Monster and Savior
by AgaruTomo
Summary: She doesn't know that she was saved by a murderer. She also doesn't know why she woke up in a strange hospital room. But Victor Creed saved her all the same, and now that he has, she's his. And he's not in the business of giving up things that are his, no matter who comes after them. Sabretooth/OC
1. Frail in the Snow

_A/N__: So I haven't posted anything in a long time, but psyche b. mused's story, __What the Cat Dragged In__, really inspired me and I've gotten really into this Victor Creed fic. Victor meets my character pretty much the same way he met her character, but I asked her if it was okay to post the story with that detail taken from it. There might be a few other similarities, too. I really hope she, and all of you guys enjoy this. It's a sort of mix between the movie-verse and comic-verse Victor, with details taken from both worlds._

_ I don't own any Marvel characters or any of the name brands that may be mentioned in the story. This is a Victor Creed/OC story. Enjoy!_

ONE:

Snow. Blinding snow. It was all she could see, all she could feel. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was something niggling at the back of Ayasha's mind, like she had forgotten something she _needed_ to remember. She could also feel the distant burn of cuts on her hands, one clutched to her chest, the other trying in vain to shield her eyes from the blowing snow. Her black braid was mostly undone, whipping around her face and neck. Taking a breath that burned her lungs with cold, Ayasha forced herself to take another step, then another, and another. She couldn't tell if she was wearing shoes or not; all her extremities were almost completely numb. Hell, she didn't even know what _clothes_ she was wearing.

She didn't know if it was day or night, or when the last time she'd eaten was. All Ayasha knew was that she was cold, and that she had to keep moving, that she couldn't stop for anything. She knew that she couldn't let herself get caught again. So she took another step, and another, unaware that her bare feet were leaving bloody tracks smeared through the snow behind her.

000

The smell of blood only reached the feral mutant because the latch on one of the windows gave way. The glass shook in its frame as it banged open, letting the snow rush in with the howling wind. The big man swore; he had been in the middle of a big glass of Jack Daniels in front of the crackling fireplace, immune to the bitch-fit mother nature was throwing outside. Swearing again, Victor Creed set the glass down, and shoved himself up off the massive couch. His unlaced boots thudded across the wood floor as he went to close the window. Then he paused, brows coming together slightly.

Blood was in the wind, a _woman's_ blood. The cold numbed most people's sense of smell, but Victor about as far from "most people" as a person could get. He let the wind snatch at his shaggy, dark blond hair, closing his eyes and opening his mouth to taste the wind as well as smell it. Yes, there was a woman outside, not too far from the house. Beyond the blood, her scent was that of someone who'd been stuck in the same room for a long time, someone who hadn't washed properly for a long time. There was also fear. It was numb and removed, like an afterthought, but it was still in her scent. The rest was hidden by distance and snow.

_'What the fuck would a frail be doin' out here in this shit?'_ he wondered, squinting out the window now. _'Fuck; what would _ anyone_ be doin' out in this?'_ Any other time, he would have shut the window and ignored any poor fucker trapped in the storm; why should he care if some idiot died? Victor gave a backward look at his tumbler of whiskey on the table beside his chair, grumbled a curse, and shut the window. He re-laced his heavy boots and yanked on his shearling coat. Not bothering with any other protection from the weather, he unbolted his front door and stepped out into the storm.

"Frail better have a fuckin' amazing story to tell," he muttered.

000

Ayasha heard shouting behind her. She almost missed it in the howling wind, but when it reached her, a jolt of fear stabbed into her chest. The man was still following. The niggling at the back of her mind grew more insistent, and she knew she'd forgotten something important. For some reason, she'd been made a prisoner, and she knew that she would do anything not to return to that. Even if it meant freezing to death. The shouting was getting louder, bits and pieces of unintelligible words carried to her on the wind.

"NO!" Ayasha shouted back, her voice catching in her throat and turning to a squeaking rasp. She started running, not knowing where the newest surge of strength came from. With it came more awareness of her body. There was pain in her feet now, numb and cold and heavy, but she ran all the same. She no longer bothered shielding her eyes, holding her arms out in front of her.

Finally, words reached her, choppy and disjointed. "Fucking no-good—cunt! Find you and—within an inch of your—!"

The rest was snatched away and Ayasha ran harder. "No," she whispered to herself. She felt like she was trying to run in sand; sand that reached for her feet and ankles with icy, biting hands. But she still knew that the pain was better than what was behind her, that room she had escaped. Her floundering movements were brought to an abrupt halt as she came up against something large and solid. What little air she'd had in her lungs was driven out of her, and she fell back, bracing herself for impact with the ground. Instead, she felt pressure around her wrist, and a hard yank on her arm as something halted her fall.

When the frail didn't try to get her footing again, Victor yanked again, pulling her up against his chest. There were fresh cuts all over her hands and forearms. His keen eyes could see the blood in the snow behind her as well. She was a little thing, her dark head barely level with his pectorals. When his arm cam around her back, holding her too him, she began to struggle, seemingly unaware of any pain in her hands as they beat weakly at his chest.

"Calm the fuck down, frail!" he said, raising his voice against the wind to be heard. "I ain't hurting ya." The girl seemed to sense the truth in him, because she stilled, and then sagged in his grip, body shaking with fatigue. He could feel her ribs through her shirt, as well as the bumps of her spine; she smelled unwashed and underfed, but there was plain relief both in her scent and her body language. She had buried her face in his coat, and was clinging weakly to him like a life preserver. Victor shook his head and laughed; frail had no idea how stupid she was being.

"I won't go back," Ayasha muttered stubbornly into the outer leather of his coat. "I won't, I won't, I won't."

Her voice was nothing more than a rasp, but he heard it all the same. Victor turned his attention to the scent of the man following her. He had the smell of a man who was impotent, angry, and in all likelihood someone who liked to beat on little girls. Granted, Victor was somewhat similar in the latter, but that didn't mean he was just gonna give the frail back. After all, she'd come onto _his_ land, so she belonged to him now, and Victor Creed _never_ shared.

"I'll give you ten seconds to turn the fuck around, and get the fuck off my property!" he shouted, seeing the shadowy shape come into view. Victor's voice was a baritone bellow, and easily cut through the storm. It was almost as if it scared the wind, for the bluster died slightly and vision cleared. The man that had been chasing the girl was dressed warmly, carrying a big flashlight in one hand and what looked like a knife in the other. He could smell the girl's blood on the blade.

"Not... going anywhere... without... that _bitch_!" the man wheezed. He was overweight and out of breath, pointing angrily at the frail with the oversized knife.

Victor bared inhumanly sharp teeth and laughed, a dark, frightening sound, but for some reason, the frail wasn't scared by it. "Not fucking likely," he said. "She don't belong to you, and you're trespassing on my property. Time's almost up."

The man moved forward, stopping when he was barely four feet from Victor. "I'm her legal guardian, and she ran away. I'm taking her back home!" Victor saw his hand tighten on the knife handle, and could smell his aggression.

Ayasha tried to stand up straight, clinging to her savior's coat and pressing as close to Victor as was physically possible. She refused to look back at the other man. "No," she said. "Not going back with you."

"Ya see?" Victor adjusted his grip on the girl, pulling his coat from her grasp and wrapping it partially around her, his hand moving down to her waist where her hipbones jutted sharply. "She's not goin' anywhere with you."

"She's mine, and I—!"

"Time's up." Victor's free arm lashed out almost faster than the eye could follow, clenching around the man's throat. His eyes bugged out, and he stabbed his knife into the thick muscle of the mutant's forearm. Victor didn't even flinch, snapping the man's neck backwards with as much effort as snapping a twig. Letting the man drop, he removed the knife, and lifted the frail up into his arms, her tiny body curling into the warmth radiating from his barrel chest.

"Thank you," she breathed, eyes closed and body starting to go limp.

"Never thought I'd hear a fuckin' frail say that," Victor muttered, turning around and heading back towards his house.

000

There was a folded blanket hanging off the back of the couch, and Victor wrapped Ayasha in it as he carried her through to the bedroom. He turned on the lights with his elbow, and dumped the girl on the massive king sized bed. She curled in on herself, shivering violently. Looking at her now, she looked more like a medical invalid than someone who had been starved. She didn't have the sunken eyes or dull, thinning hair of someone denied proper nutrition over a long term. She looked more like she had just laid in one place for a long time and eaten just barely enough. She had the darker skin, full lips, and slightly textured hair of someone with black parentage, the rest of her bone structure clearly pointing to strong Native American blood. It wasn't a mix seen every day, but Victor had been around long enough to have seen just about every ethnic mix there was.

The fact that she was wearing a soaked set of blue scrubs, and had bandages in the crook of each arm confirmed his guess about her previous location. But she certainly hadn't been in any hospital; she lacked the cloying scent of disinfectant and the sick. She shivered again, bringing him back to the task at hand. Putting one knee on the bed, Victor used his claws to shred the front of her top, and then to slice the waistband of her pants. She made a weak, pitiful sound that could have been a protest, and she lifted her lids to look blearily at him with brown eyes so dark in color they were almost black.

"Gotta get you dry," he grunted, pulling off the remains of her clothes. She had no underwear, but was too cold to have any concept of shame. He wrapped the blanket back around her, and yanked the covers back on his bed. Pulling her up with one arm, he tucked her swaddled body under the quilt. She looked even tinier in his massive bed. Victor turned to his dresser. He didn't have anything that would fit her, but he pulled out a t-shirt and returned to the bed. He sat at the head of the bed next to her, kicking off his boots and sticking his legs under the covers. Then he pulled her into a sitting position between them, putting her back to his chest.

"Arms over your head," he said, shaking the t-shirt in front of her eyes. She made a quiet noise and weakly tried to lift her arms. They had once been finely toned, but months of stillness had caused them to atrophy. Growling in annoyance, Victor lifted her arms for himself, putting first one and then the other into the shirt's sleeves before pulling it down over her head. He pulled off his own shirt, tossing it away and pulling the blankets up to the girl's chin again. When he pulled her back against him, she squeaked, connecting the shirt he'd thrown away to the elevated warmth against her back. He slid his arms under both her own and the borrowed shirt, putting his big hands on her bony torso, claws sheathed.

Normally he wouldn't bother with this shit. He was better dispositioned towards putting frails _in_ such a state, not bringing them out of it. But he wanted to know what the fuck she and the dead waste of skin outside had been doing on his property. And she couldn't very well answer if she were dead or half frozen.

He started rubbing in circular motions, and the frail tensed for a moment. But her fear of assault quickly faded as Victor's body heat continued to seep into her. It was actually disconcerting for him as all fear left the girl, and she leaned back, welcoming the warmth he provided. He paused for a moment, looking down. There was nothing but trust on her tired face, and Victor couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at him with that particular feeling in mind. Just how stupid was this girl? Couldn't she sense the danger? After all, he'd easily killed the man that had been chasing her. Even if he _had_ rescued them, most frails would have been scared shitless by him anyways.

But Ayasha wasn't afraid; for the first time since she'd woken up, she wasn't afraid. She felt safe enough to close her eyes, to lean back into this giant of a man with a furnace in his chest. She didn't even mind that his nails seemed abnormally long and and sharp whenever they made contact with her skin. The massaging of his warm hands was bringing her slowly back to life, and she didn't even care when they brushed the bottom of her breasts.

Victor couldn't help but laugh; a full, deep, gravely sound that rumbled in his chest. "Frail, if you were a cat, you'd be purrin'," he chuckled. He could have done anything he wanted to the weak little thing, and she wouldn't be able to stop him. He was a stranger, a _big _stranger that could kill easily. But the stupid little thing felt safe enough not to stop him touching her. She wasn't even uneasy.

He dipped his head and breathed in her scent again. The first thing he noticed on the closer inspection was that the girl was a mutant, like he was. Her body gave no indication of what kind; he'd ask her when she was a bit more removed from death's door. He continued his massaging, working warmth into her trunk first before moving out to the extremities. He only stopped to microwave a glass of milk in order to put something warm in her belly. He had to give it to her like she was a baby, holding the glass and letting her take small sips until the milk was gone.

Eventually, after hours had passed, he began to feel a little warmth in her skin. Knowing that most of the danger had passed, Victor laid her in the bed on her own, putting a hot water bottle wrapped in a pillow case on her stomach. She was asleep almost instantly, turning onto her side and curling into a ball around the warmth. He stared down at her, taking a sip of the Jack he'd retrieved from the living room. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn't exactly in the business of rescuing damsels in distress; he was much more familiar with being the one putting them _in_ distress. Rescuing them was Jimmy's thing.

Any other time, he would have gladly taken advantage of Ayasha's trust and weakness. But for some reason, the urge just wasn't there where this one was concerned. He was more curious about her. For someone who showed all the signs of having been in a coma she had put up a hell of a fight before she had run into him. He'd had to bandage her hands and forearms in several places; they were covered in defensive wounds. He'd also had to deal with her raw, bloody feet. The knuckles of one hand were beginning to swell under torn skin and a darkening, brown-purple bruise. Freshly woken coma patients didn't usually put up that much of a fight.

Victor sat down at his desk and turned on his computer, glancing over his shoulder at the little lump in his bed. The scent of a contented and peaceful female was not one he was used to. Even if they had come to his bed willingly, they always had some idea of how dangerous he was, and were never completely at ease. But this stupid little thing was lost to the world, breathing easy without any idea of what kind of man had saved her. Well, that would certainly change quickly. He had no intention on hiding what kind of man—some argued he was more of a beast—he was. Just because he'd decided to be generous for once didn't change anything.

000

When Ayasha woke up, she could feel considerably more than she had been able to last time. Every inch of her felt tired, like she'd done ten triathlons in a row. Just lifting her hand to rub at her eyes was an effort and caused significant twinging. She groaned, the shudder that went through her causing even more pain and turning the groan to a whimper. Memory snapped back with painful clarity, and she tightened her body, instinctively making her body as small as possible.

But everything was different. She wasn't laying on the lumpy mattress she'd woken up on the first time. There were no needles in her arms, tubes in her nose and throat, or the sound of monitors beeping in the background. She was surrounded by warmth, laying with her head on a massive pillow and body hidden under equally large blankets. Layers of them. Her fingers and toes were still chilled, but she felt almost human again.

She chanced opening her eyes. The dim blur slowly came into focus, and she blinked at what she could see from the pillow. There was a bedside table with a lamp and an empty glass on it, but nothing else. Beyond that was a desk with a dark computer monitor, tower, and keyboard on it. There were no lights on, but a dim natural light streamed in from a window between the nightstand and the desk.

Slowly, cautiously, Ayasha sat up, wincing as her joints creaked and protested. Her braid was still mostly undone, and she could feel her unwashed hair sticking up at odd angles around her head. She lifted a hand to it, and scowled. Though her mixed heritage had given her some leniency, her hair was far from easy to manage, and it had obviously gone uncared for for who knows how long. She tried to smooth it down with one hand, not quite trusting herself to stop using the other as support.

Looking down, she saw a multitude of adhesive bandages around her fingers, and gauze taped over spots on her forearms. She shuddered, remembering the man's knife. Fear sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach, and would have turned to full blown panic if she hadn't been certain that someone had taken her away from that. She could hardly remember anything from last night—_had_ she only been out for a night?—and she knew that there was no way the man with the knife would have brought her back to a place so warm and comfortable.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to recall in more detail. She remembered a deep growl of a voice, and big, warm hands. Her cheeks heated as she remembered just what those hands had touched. Easing back down, she pushed back the covers a bit, and looked down at herself. The men's t-shirt she was wearing was far too big, turning into more of a dress on her. Her legs looked like they belonged to someone else; her knees were sticking out more than normal, the muscles gained by hundreds of hours of bike riding diminished. Try as she might, Ayasha couldn't remember anything about her coma. _When_ it had happened... How... Her roommates would probably have filed a missing person report if she'd been gone as long as she thought.

"Can you walk?"

It took a lifetime of learning how to blend into a crowd and go unnoticed to keep Ayasha from jumping and squeaking in alarm. Tensed even more, she looked towards the voice. A man was standing in the doorway, one arm leaning against the frame. He was big, with shaggy hair and built of nothing but hard muscle. The light in the bedroom was too dim to see anything else, and the light on in the hallway behind him didn't help.

"Asked you a question, frail," he growled.

Ayasha sat up a little straighter. "I think so?" she whispered.

From the tone of his voice, he might have been raising an eyebrow, but she couldn't tell. "Well, c'mon, then. You ain't eating in my bed." He turned and started walking back down the hallway. She hadn't realized that she even _was_ hungry until he'd said something; in fact she felt like she hadn't eaten in days. That wasn't strictly true, but sh didn't think that liquid nutrition pumped into your stomach through a tube really counted as eating. She could smell food too. Her mind was still too foggy to tell her exactly what it was, but her mouth was already watering. Untangling herself from the blankets was easy enough, and she swung her feet—they were bandaged too—around to put on the floor.

Or at least she _tried_ to; the bed was a lot higher up than she expected. She slid down, her feet hitting the floor harder than she'd intended, making her hiss and grit her teeth in pain as the bandaged soles protested sharply. That only made her jaw hurt, so she forced herself to relax, and used the bed to straighten herself. She took one step, and then another. There was pain, but it wasn't anything worse than walking on torn blisters; she would manage. Continuing at a careful pace—she didn't quite trust her body to keep doing what she told it to—Ayasha shuffled out into the hall.

It was real hardwood under her feet, and the rest of what she could see—the walls bare of pictures or any other kind of decoration—had the feel of some kind of cabin out in the woods. The hall led out into a massive kitchen/dining room combination, but she failed to notice anything other than the thick table and chairs next to a peninsular counter. There was a steaming plate of food on the table, and the big man from before was sitting in one of the chairs, leaning back with a can of beer in one hand.

Victor looked the girl over in the better light. She looked even tinier than before, practically swimming in his borrowed olive drab shirt, the hem falling a few inches above her knees. It looked good against the dark, reddish, olive-russet of her skin, the collar trying to slide off one of her shoulders. The way she half leaned, half held onto the wall showed a bit more of woman's figure, if a little bony for his usual taste.

Most of the anxiety and fear that had been in her scent was gone, replaced and dominated by hunger. She was trying to keep her attention on him, but failing miserably, the plate of scrambled eggs and thick slices of fried ham always pulling her gaze back to it. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, revealing a pointed fang. He pointed to the other chair, and she got a glimpse at his claws. "Sit," he ordered. The only reaction the frail allowed herself was a widening of the eyes before she hobbled over to the table, walking around the side farthest from him.

She let out a breath of relief as she sank into the chair, before her almond-shaped eyes got even bigger as Victor slid the plate over to her, the knife and fork on the edge clattering slightly. "Eat. Yer way too fuckin' skinny."

Ayasha's stomach growled loudly and it was all she could do not to drool. Oblivious to the twinging in her hands and wrists, she picked up the silverware. For a moment she tried to remember her manners, but they abandoned her the second the first small piece of ham was in her mouth. The knife was forgotten as she tore chunks from pieces speared with her fork, alternating between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs and gulps from the glass of water that was produced.

It wasn't quite the look of someone suffering from starvation in her eyes; she was still too aware of her surroundings for that. From the clothes he'd found her in and the smell of antiseptic, metal, general mustiness that usually permeated medical facilities, Creed guessed that the frail had been fed by tubes. And he didn't really consider liquid nutrition pumped directly into the stomach 'eating'. Plus, whoever it was had obviously done a shitty job. Her eyes were slightly sunken with dark circles under them, and her one exposed collarbone stuck out more than it should have, even for someone with her build. She only paused for a second when he chuckled before she continued wolfing down her food. Victor sipped at his beer in silent observation, her awkward awareness of him actually amusing. It had been a while since anything other than his prey's terror and blood had made him smirk this way.

There was something else that interested him too. A slight sharpness had begun in the air around him when she woke up, and had only gotten more noticeable when she came in and sat down at his table. He already knew that she wasn't any kind of psychic or empath; enough people had fucked around with his head for him to know when someone was trying to. The feeling wasn't anything like that. He waited until she had cleaned the plate and drained the rest of her water in one go before speaking.

"So what were you doin' on my property in the middle of that fuckin' blizzard?" he asked, voice a subdued rumble.

Ayasha swallowed and chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, brows pulling together. "Don't really know." Victor growled at her, anger flickering in his eyes. "I don't!" she insisted, shifting anxiously under his glare. "It's... it's complicated and... and fuzzy."

He blinked and raised a brow slightly, but the glare remained. "Fuzzy?"

"Everything is... hard to remember." She stared intently at the bottom of her empty glass. She swallowed again in an attempt to wet her suddenly dry throat. "Woke up with all kinds of I.V.'s and tubes sticking outta me," she rubbed the bandage in the crook of her left elbow, "and a bunch of monitors and screens everywhere." Fear was rising in her scent again, and the sharpness in the air around Victor was fluctuating. "Not sure how, but I got outside. I was in this big, walled-off parking lot; there was barbed wire along the top of the wall."

Creed sipped at his beer, staring at her when she looked up at him. She quickly looked away and continued. "There was an empty van running, but my vision was so blurry and I was shaking so much I knew I couldn't drive... Took a risk and hid in the back. Someone got in and drove it beyond the wall, but..." There was anger mixed in with the anxiety now. "Didn't realize how weak I still was, and I passed out. Woke up with that man yelling and trying to drag me out into that storm by my hair."

Her knuckles had gone tight and pale around the glass, and Victor could smell that one of the cuts had reopened and started bleeding again. "You fought 'im and ran," he finished for her. She nodded dumbly, and he took a swig of his beer, draining the can and crushing it like tissue paper.

"So what kinda mutant are you?"

That made her look up at him, brows coming together again and lip popping out from between her teeth. She looked awful tempting when she did that. "What're you talking about? I'm not—" He leaned forward and growled again, making her jerk back. "I'm not!" Fear quickly replaced the anger that had entered her eyes, but there was no lie there. However, the underlying tang in her scent refuted her words; she _was_ a mutant.

Victor's eyes narrowed. Her powers had manifested already, he knew that for sure. Were they so weak and useless that they had simply gone unnoticed? With the way that sharpness was tingling around him he wasn't so sure. He sat back. "Yeah, you are," he said, tone shutting down any possibility of argument. He tapped the side of his nose with a clawed fingertip. "Can smell it on ya."

"You can—? Oh!" Understanding crossed her face. "You're a feral?" she ventured.

One brow lifted again. "You met a feral before, frail?" He gave her a wide, toothy smile, still leaning towards her. She tried not to squirm under his gaze, and the predator in him stirred. He wondered what kind of sounds she'd make when his claws pricked her thighs, or when he bit at the soft, dark skin of her neck.

The glint in his eyes was making her even more nervous, but Ayasha answered him anyways. "My best friend growing up," she murmured. As grateful as she was, she wasn't going to drag people she cared about into whatever dumbfuckery she'd gotten herself into.

Ferals weren't exactly a rare class of mutant, but they were usually loners, or ran with a pack of a few other ferals. Those that couldn't pass for human—like Victor—were practically _never_ friends with humans, or in this case, a mutant that _thought_ she was human. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of the frail being friends with another feral. She'd shown up on _his _land; she belonged to him now. And even if she was still too fragile and easy to break for him to really enjoy that claim, that didn't stop him from getting pissed off at the idea of another feral sniffing around what was his. Even if she hadn't been his at the time.

A soft growl left him, and he took a deep breath, lids lowering slightly as he focused all of his considerable olfactory abilities on her. He was pleasantly surprised at all the information he was able to pick up on. Normally, it was just surface information that came through; wounds, general health of the body, recent locations, moods, etc. The rest was usually just little hints scattered throughout. His brows knitted; he'd never been able to read _anyone_ so clearly.

Mutant, born and raised in the city, but that wasn't where she'd spent all her time. She _did_ spend a fair amount of time around two different dogs, one a pittbull and the other some kind of terrier mix. She was older than she looked—between 19 and 23—and had exactly seven metal fillings. She had been in some kind of medical facility for close to eight months, but it hadn't been a hospital. The two people that had spent the most time around her were both males—Victor was already half imagining tearing out their throats—one white and in his fifties, the other Indian and in his late twenties.

The intensity of his eyes never wavered. No one had ever looked at Ayasha that way, so she would've had no idea what was going through a _normal_ person's head, let alone Victor's. What she _did_ know was that the look made her blush, and her heart beat a little faster. The wary anxiety never lefty her, but the majority of her fear was slowly ebbing away. Her stomach was full, and she was in a warm—and _hopefully_ safe—place. The tension in her shoulders and jaw eased, and she leaned back into the chair, still avoiding Victor's eyes.

Now he focused in on Ayasha's personal scent. A strange mix of sweet, warm, and spicy, it wove through her anxiety and budding curiosity, hints of his own smell from the borrowed shirt hanging on the edges. It was a pleasant mix, and it made him wonder how she'd smell after he fucked her. The idea made his cock twitch. _'No, not yet.'_ She'd break too easily the way she was now, and he liked to have fun with his toys before he broke them. It was far too much fun to watch them get all flustered and confused... or scared out of their minds... But for the time being, Victor kept the more bestial part himself at bay. At any rate, the girl's nervous trust in him was almost comical; it would keep him entertained for a while.

That left him with a rather pressing question. What was he going to do with her in the mean time? She couldn't exactly wander around the place in nothing but his t-shirt; he'd end up fucking her before the day was out.

That, and Ayasha's eyelids were starting to droop, her grip slowly loosening around the glass. With her stomach full, her body was going into full recovery mode. Victor may have saved her from the worst of the storm's wrath, but her body—atrophied and underfed—had suffered significant trauma. Before her grip got any looser, he stood and took the glass. She started, but he was already next to her, gathering her into his arms as easily as a sleeping kitten. "Don't need you droppin' and breakin' shit," he muttered, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees.

Ayasha looked up at him, brows furrowed. The manhandling made her a little uncomfortable, but the large, warm hand felt good on her back. "Sorry," she mumbled, letting her head lean against his chest. It radiated the same comforting heat that had saved her from hypothermia. She couldn't remember having felt this safe in a long time. "Thanks for th' food, too..." Fatigue was starting to slur her words, and Victor simply shook his head as he carried her to the oversized green sofa that stood in front of the large wood stove. He lay her down, leaving the room and returning shortly with a blanket and pillow.

He tucked her in, the domestic nature of the acting rubbing him every sort of wrong way. She barely took up half the couch, even all stretched out. For a few moments, he thought about getting another beer and sitting down as well, but quickly changed his mind. He had things to do, and his guest—another disgustingly domestic term—would be sleeping for a while.

000

Ayasha's dreams were disjointed but strikingly vivid. For what seemed like ages, the black and white transparencies of x-rays and body scans hung before her eyes, muffled voices floating at the edge of her perception, hands pointing and changing images. She saw needles stuck into her skin, blood drawn and liquids injected again and again. There was the pressure of restraints on her wrists, chest and ankles, and something was forcing her eyes open against a blinding light. She never moved or struggled, and sometimes there was nothing but darkness and voices.

She could hear every sound with perfect clarity, but somehow couldn't understand a word. The dream anxiety slowly bled into reality, and her body began to twist and thrash on the couch. Coming awake with a start, Ayasha panicked as she felt the blanket tangled around her legs, impeding her movement. A raspy, undignified squawk escaped her and she tumbled face first onto the floor. She was quiet for a moment before groaning into the thick carpet that had somewhat cushioned her fall. After several long, colorful, and obscene phrases, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees and sat back. There was a low orange glow in the large stone wood stove in front of her, a comfortable heat radiating out into the room. She could hear a quite humming roar of flames inside, but beyond that the house was silent.

It was dark beyond the windows, but there was a dim light on in the open kitchen off to her left. A short hall led to a foyer and heavy wooden door behind her, the latter probably leading outside. The hall that she had walked earlier—yesterday?—was slightly to the left of the stove. Everything else was dark, furniture casting shadows that flickered slightly every now and then in the firelight. It was nothing like the apartment she'd called home for the last four years, but it was comfortable. There wasn't much sign of it being lived in other than the lingering smell of ham and eggs that she barely remembered tasting. The dishes were still on the table, and her first instinct was to get up and take them to the sink. But she was halfway to standing when her knees began to shake, and she sat down hard on the couch.

She dragged a hand over her face. "Shit..." Plastic rustled next to her, and she turned. Three plastic grocery bags sat at the other end of the couch, and she leaned over to peek inside. Packaged women's underwear and socks were in the first. Curiosity made Ayasha pull the other two over. Both were filled with simple things like yoga and sweat pants, along with short and long sleeved t-shirts in a random collection of colors. There were also two plaid flannel shirts and a collection of sports bras in the bottom of the last bag.

Ayasha looked around, then rolled her eyes at herself. _'What, did you see any other girls around here without any of their own clothes or underwear?' _she thought, pulling out one of the packages of cotton underpants. Even though the clothes were, in all likelihood, meant for her, she was still hesitant about opening the package without it being directly given to her. She shifted to sit cross-legged and sighed. Going commando was fine every now and then, but she certainly wasn't about to go around a stranger's house in nothing but his borrowed shirt.

Ripping open a package, she selected a light green pair and pulled them carefully over her legs. The limbs seemed smaller than she remembered, and the size small black yoga pants she pulled on were almost too big. When it came to removing her shirt and putting on a bra, she paused. She felt like it had been months since she'd bathed herself, and the hair growth on her legs proved it. More than anything, she wanted to take a long, hot shower, but she doubted that her legs would support her enough for that. A bath would do just as well, and while it could have waited, her bladder was demanding her attention. A long-sleeved shirt and bra in hand, she got slowly to her feet. It took a moment before she trusted them with her weight, and when she did, she set out to find the bathroom.

000

Victor was awake the second Ayasha had squawked and fallen, and now he lay in bed, listening as she started shuffling around. It took her a little while to find what she was looking for, trying the two other locked doors in the hallway before she found the bathroom. She paused there, probably looking towards his bedroom. He didn't make a sound, and eventually she went inside, closing the door behind her. He waited until she had the water running before getting up and silently exiting into the hall.

The sharpness in the air had returned, and he breathed in the frail's scent, doubly amplified by the steam. Everything was as shockingly clear as before, but he focused on the surface. She was both nervous and curious, but those were only background compared to the excitement she was feeling, probably for the bath she was drawing. She probably hadn't had anything more than a wipe down in the last several months, so Victor couldn't blame her. He didn't mind dirt and grime—or more often than not, blood and gore—on his skin, but there was no denying the pleasures of washing with hot water.

Leaning against the wall, he glanced back into his room at the clock on the nightstand; it was a little after two in the morning. After he heard her lower herself into the tub, he left the hall, walking shirtless into the kitchen. First, he drained the last three-quarters of a gallon of gatorade, then got himself a beer. Then he returned to his place outside the bathroom door to wait.

000

It took Ayasha longer to wash and shave—she'd been pleasantly surprised by a package of women's disposable razors—than she would have liked. She had to be careful of her bandaged forearms and feet, and that threw a wrench into everything. But she managed. The water had been close to scalding when she had climbed into the oversized tub, but had cooled significantly by the time she got out, pulling on her new clothes again. She toweled off her hair and folded the borrowed shirt neatly. She would worry about brushing her hair and teeth later. She opened the door, and came face-to-chest with the feral mutant that had made her breakfast.

She quickly pursed her lips against a startled squeak, and squeezed the t-shirt to her chest as she looked up at him. Victor chuckled—a low, rumbling, and not unpleasant sound—and leaned in, putting one clawed hand on the doorway next to her head. "Scare ya, frail?" His voice was practically a purr, and that combined with the look in his lidded eyes made her already pink cheeks flush. She looked away, avoiding his eyes and tucking a stray wet tendril of hair behind one ear.

"A little," she grudgingly admitted. Then she held out his shirt with both hands. "Thank you... for letting me borrow it. And for the other clothes." Her feet shuffled in a clean pair of socks and she pulled at the hem of her shirt. Victor stared down at her, knowing that she was aware of his gaze. He'd guessed at her size, and everything seemed to fit her alright. Reaching out, he took hold of his shirt. Ayasha quickly dropped her hands and tried to move past him. But he had made sure to stand just close enough so that she had to brush against him as pushed nervously by.

He was just as warm as she remembered, and that combined with the chill of her damp hair rose goose bumps on her arms and legs, and for half a moment, she almost wanted to lean into him. Then she was past him and the urge faded. Victor watched her go, and lifted the shirt to his nose. Her warm, spicy scent greeted him, and he surprised himself by letting out a low rumble of appreciation. It had been a long time time since anyone's scent had appealed to both sides of him; both man and beast. Then he heard more water running, and the clink of dishes, and followed after the frail, hanging the shirt over one broad shoulder.

Sure enough, he found her rinsing yesterday's dishes in the sink. She had her sleeves rolled up, and was _trying_ to to keep the bandages on her hands and forearms dry; she wasn't doing too well. Victor was behind her without a sound, big hands engulfing her wrists and making her drop the sponge and fork she'd been holding. He felt her little body go rigid between his chest and the counter. "You tryin' to put all that time I spent patching you up to waste, frail?" he growled quietly in her ear, his claws just barely pricking the skin of her wrists.

"N-no!" she squeaked. "I-I just—" Her voice cracked and anxiety spiked in her scent, but she wasn't stupid enough to start thrashing and struggling.

"You just what, frail?" His stubble tickled her ear and she shivered. But there was a good deal more to her scent than anxiety and fear. She seemed to be more flustered at being pressed and held so close. It was strange for him, and he drank in the uncommon scent. There was usually nothing but terror in a frail's scent when he was this close.

"I—I just didn't want to leave a mess," she said, trying to hide the hitch in her breathing. It had been a long time since she'd this close to another body, and heat prickled where his chest touched her back.

Victor chuckled. "Think I can't clean up after myself?" His chin was resting lightly on her shoulder, and he could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers in her wrist.

"No! But you were feeding me..." Ayasha trailed off into silence, her tone reminding Victor of a dejected puppy's whine. She straightened and turned slightly, looking curiously up at him. Then, something akin to a smile danced quickly across her eyes, gone almost before it could be noticed. "Thank you."

Victor blinked and pulled himself up to his full height; she didn't break eye contact. He wasn't used being thanked or to looks of genuine curiosity. He released her wrists but stayed where he was, keeping her pinned against the counter. She pursed her lips and looked up at him almost indignantly. She wasn't sure she liked being called 'frail' all the time. Granted, she was feeling _far_ from robust, but still... The stubborn indignant look was enough to make Victor laugh again, and he turned off the water before taking a step back.

She turned to face him, opening her mouth to ask him just why the hell he kept calling her that. Then she realized that she'd probably never actually given him her name. "My name's Ayasha," she offered.

The feral considered her in silence for a few moments. "Victor Creed." She was his, he saw no harm in what was his knowing his name.

"Thank you again, Mr. Creed," she said.

He almost laughed again. No one ever said "thank you" to Victor _fucking _Creed and and actually _meant_ it. No one was ever actually _grateful_ to him... Except her. This dark little frail was thanking him, and she meant every fucking word. Part of him wanted to show her that she should be _scared_, not grateful; to show her how completely stupid she was being. But it also amused him. How long before the observant little thing realized just how dangerous he was? What sense city life had given her had already kept her slightly wary of him. He scoffed, and retrieved his beer from where he'd set it on the table before going over to the couch. The fire wouldn't need another log until later in the morning, and there wasn't much point in going back to bed now that he was awake.

"You gonna stand there all night or you gonna sit down?" He put the bags of clothes on the floor and pointed a claw to the spot beside him.

The color stayed high in Ayasha's cheeks, but she complied with her host, walking over and sitting back down on the couch; if a little farther from him than he had indicated. He gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing. She hugged her legs up against her chest, resting her chin on her knees and resiting the urge to stare at him. Victor had let his usually close-cropped hair grow, but kept his mutton-chop sideburns and stubble beard much the same. He'd gone into business for himself years ago, and hadn't seen much point in keeping the military cut. He was also well aware that the shaggy, wild look made him appear all the more intimidating. Not that he really needed an edge in that department. Being well over six feet and being made of over three-hundred pounds of hard muscle, claws, and fangs did just fine.

Ayasha _knew_ that she should be more scared of him. Everything about him clearly spelled out danger and violence. But he had _saved_ her; _protected_ her from the man who had wanted to drag her back to the room with the machines and tubes and needles. Fear rolled down her spine like ice water at the thought, and she turned instantly into a quivering ball of tension, jaw clenched and her overgrown nails digging into her legs.

The sudden stench of her fear practically slapped Victor in the face, overloading his nose for a moment. He turned his full attention to the frail. Usually, being in such a state would have been normal for a woman in close proximity to him. But _this_ girl's fear and anxiety had _nothing_ to do with him. He knew the look in her eyes. You didn't fight in as many wars as he hand and not learn to recognize that look on a person's face. It was pure terror born from vivid memory. He knew that Jimmy—Logan, now—would have tried to comfort her in his rough, awkward way. Victor didn't know shit about that. He was much more comfortable with putting women _in need_ of comforting.

But the frail's scent was overpowering, almost strong enough to make his eyes water. He couldn't just get up and leave either; he knew the smell would follow him and fill the whole house. Growling his annoyance, Victor grabbed Ayasha by the arm and pulled her over to him. She cried out and started to thrash, her mind turning to fight or flight. Her flailing did about as much good as a moth with wet wings. "You're fine." It was all he said—all he was going to say—but for some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, the words reached through Ayasha's panic and found her, dragging her back to herself. She stilled, her ear against his bare chest.

_Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

Everything but the strong, steady beat of Victor's heart faded away. The steady rhythm became her whole world, and her hand lifted to rest on his naked ribs.

_Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

She could feel the hair on his chest tickling her cheek, and his clawed hand resting on her shoulder. The heat of the fire returned to her face, as well as the cool dampness of her own hair. The world came back in large chunks after that, and Ayasha let out a shakey breath, closing her eyes.

The silenced stretched out, and Creed relaxed his arm around her. A frail calming down _because_ he touched her? An incredulous half smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. It seemed that there really _was_ a first time for everything. Not that it would last... He decided that he liked the way she felt resting chastely against him, and it seemed she liked it to. He never thought he'd find himself really enjoying anything remotely chaste to do with a woman. Ayasha's scent cleared and sweetened with relaxation, tension leaving her body bit by bit.

Eventually, Ayasha opened her eyes and lifted her head. "Thanks," she muttered sheepishly, She made to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her. She looked at him, confused and wary. He offered no explanation, taking a swig of his beer and drawing slow circles on her shoulder with a mostly retracted claw. He much preferred how she smelled like this compared to the stink of her terror. Though if it had been _him_ causing her fear, it would probably have been a different story. But the frail was his, and the idea of someone else making _his_ frail so fucking scared pissed him off.

Ayasha could easily tell that her savior was a rough man, not prone to displays of affection or kindness. She could only guess that him continuing to silently hold her was the best way he knew to keep her calm. And as awkward as the bodily closeness was, she couldn't deny that she felt safer now. That made her blush. Necessity had made her independent and self sufficient; wanting someone else to help make her problems go away was an alien, uncomfortable feeling. All the same, she stopped trying to pull away, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position. Victor found the extending silence fairly comfortable, but from the way Ayasha had started to tug at her pant leg he could tell that she was trying to think of something to say. He didn't give a shit so long as she stayed still.

After what seemed like forever, she finally asked, "um, where are we?"

He didn't see much point in keeping their location a secret. Who was she gonna tell? "Mistissini, Quebec."

She stared incredulously. "Canada? The fuck am I doing in _Canada_?" She'd been on a camping trip to Canada once with her grandparents, but that had been a long time ago.

"Fuck if I know," Victor muttered. He was no stranger to secret facilities, medical or otherwise, and he would have known if there had been anything of the sort in the area. However, he didn't know how far the van had been driving with unconscious in the back. There were all kinds of organizations that used mutants for experiments and research. Some were legal and above board, properly compensating the subjects and treating them with respect. There were more of the opposite type. The place the frail had managed to escape was obviously the latter. He knew that he could just as easily left it alone, but he was curious by nature. He also wanted to learn more about the girl's mutation, and whoever had had her locked up was probably the best bet for finding out.

Some of the less powerful empaths that Creed had met hadn't known that they were mutants at first. But they usually had at least _some_ idea that something odd was going on when their abilities came into play. This girl was totally oblivious to the sharpness in the air that she created. One could learn a lot from simple observation, but in this case he knew that it would only take him so far.

But Victor's instincts had served him well over the centuries, and if he had been asked to guess, he would have said that Ayasha's mutation probably allowed her to have some affect on other mutant's abilities. After all, he had never been able to read so much into scent, and smells and sounds almost seemed sharper in a way he couldn't put his finger on. But guessing wasn't enough. He wanted specifics. When he looked down at the frail again, she had fallen asleep, her mouth slightly open and breathing slow and even. Victor chuckled and shook his head at the innocence of her.

000

When Ayasha woke up again several hours later, she was alone on the couch, the sun shining outside and reflecting brightly off the snow. Feeling a bit less like a walking muscle knot, she sat up and stretched. She could see her surroundings a great deal better now. All of the furniture that she could see was older, but in wonderful condition, the slightly battered and scuffed wood polished to perfection. Most of the walls were packed with bookshelves, with another long couch sitting under a window, and two of what looked like early hand drawn maps of North America and Europe.

She lifted a hand to run through her hair, and was with dry tangles and knots. There was even some slight matting on one side that she knew she hadn't gotten from sleeping on the couch, but also didn't want to think about the more likely cause. She made a face and got to her feet, folding the blanket that had tangled around her ankles before walking into the hall. She closed the door behind her before turning on the light and looking at herself in the mirror. "Eeesh!" She made another face. Wherever she'd been held, they obviously knew nothing about caring for textured hair. It was dry, frizzy, and full of split ends. She was struck with the powerful urge to just chop it all off and start over.

No... better wait. Instead, she rummaged quietly in the drawers beside the sink. All she found was a thick comb, but it would have to do. Pulling out the overstretched elastic that she'd somehow managed to hold onto, she went to work. Her mother used to tease her about being tender-headed, and probably would have clicked her tongue and shaken her head yet again to see her daughter struggling with her hair. It took well over half an hour, lots of swearing in two languages—English and a little French—and pulling three large wads of torn hair out of the comb. The matting on one side of her head would have to be shaved off, but she didn't have the tools. She looked at herself in the mirror again, then scowled. She'd gone and used the comb without any thought towards feral mutant it belonged to.

Mutant... Mr. Creed had told her that she was a _mutant_. The idea boggled her mind. She knew that her paternal grandfather had been some kind of psychic, but she had never met him, and no one had ever offered any details. She supposed that it was possible that he could have passed on the genes through his son... But Ayasha had never done anything all that strange.

But then, some people would call a three year romantic relationship with an older mutant girl _strange_. She sincerely doubted that bisexuality was a mutant power. She found herself wondering what her host would think if it ever came up. Men usually all _thought_ the same thing, but some covered it up with babble about the Bible and damnation. There were also those that asked the sex questions. Personally, Ayasha pitied both parties in a relationship where the man couldn't think of a way to have sex with a woman without just putting a penis into a vagina.

She shook her head; this train of thought wasn't getting her anywhere. She'd ask Mr. Creed for some scissors and maybe a trimmer to cut her later. For the time being, she pulled it back into a rough side braid. She washed her face and left the bathroom feeling much more a wake and a bit more clear headed. Her mind still swam with questions and thoughts of course, but they didn't seem quite so daunting at the moment.

Her stomach gave a quiet gurgle of hunger, but she didn't just want to help herself; she was a guest, and wasn't sure how her host liked things. She allowed herself a tall glass of water before wandering over to the stove. When she opened the small door on the side—she didn't know to open the vents first—she was greeted by the blaze of flames and a face full of smoke. Coughing, she quickly shut the door, her eyes watering. "Great job, Aya'," she wheezed, taking several big gulps of water. After the coughing subsided, she started walking along the bookshelves. Her legs and weak and needed exercise; she wasn't snooping.

The books she found surprised her. Aside from the sheer volume of books themselves, she wasn't sure what she'd expected Victor to read, but... All of the classics she'd read in school were there, all old, well-worn hardbacks, and probably a few first editions. There were academic texts on history, psychology, physics and more. There was plenty of fiction, but she had no idea what a good chunk of them were, because they were written in languages from German to Chinese. Ayasha could speak a fair amount of french but the _sheer number_ of languages—and every one looked as if it had been read more than once—was astounding. She was also fairly sure that there were a few volumes written in tongues that hadn't been spoken in centuries. There was a small section of what were obviously journals—all strangely old and leather-bound—that she left alone. They could have been Victor's, and she wasn't about to pry.

She had been an avid reader from an early age, and had always loved older books. The heft of them in her hands, the texture of the binding, the smell of the paper... She leaned in and breathed deeply, the familiar musty smell making her smile despite the thoughts that had begun leaking back to the front of her mind. Little bits of memory had become clear, and she remembered with frightening clarity the way the needles had slid into the crook of her restrained arm. She remembered the way her blood had flowed away from her, and the way a dark liquid had flowed in through a tube in the other arm.

A shudder went through her, and she felt her knees begin to tremble. She swore at the quick mental shift, all her joy from the books draining away. Another, stronger tremble, and she grabbed onto the shelf in front of her for support. Anger welled in her chest, but shook under the force of her growing fear. She was having another fucking panic attack! She dug her nails into the wooden shelf, one of them breaking badly and forming a bleeding crack up the middle. She hardly even felt it.

Blood thundered in her ears, thoughts and half remembered images swarming in her head too quickly for her to process, and her knees started to buckle. The fluctuating sharpness in the air went unnoticed by her. "No, no, no, no, no!" she hissed through clenched teeth. Some part of her was begging for Victor, for the calm that he had offered before. "NO! I _don't_ need him!" She would _not_ run to him every time a memory of her captivity made her anxious or scared. She'd learned how to take care of herself mentally and physically, and she'd be _damned_ if she lost that ability now.

"Breathe!" she ordered herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Then in a softer voice, "breathe, Aya'. Just breathe." In and out, in and out. She forced herself to do it over and over, squeezing out the clamoring thoughts until there was nothing left but a dull hum at the back of her mind.

In and out.

In and out.

Gradually, she slowed her frantic breathing, and her pulse began to follow suit. Slowly, Ayasha uncurled her fingers from the shelf. She swayed for a moment, but after that was fairly sure she had her balance, so she let go. But a residual tremor rolled through her, and proved too much for her weakened body. Her knees gave out and she went down. Big hands grabbed her roughly under both arms, halting her descent. Victor's claws pricked the soft undersides of her biceps as he pulled her up and turned her around. Legs still unable to bear her weight, she instinctively grabbed onto him, hands curling into weak fists around olive drab cotton. He could smell the blood from her cracked nail from beneath the blanket of receding panic. Switching his hold to one arm around her back, Victor put his other hand under her chin and made her look up at him, his eyes scrutinizing her face.

It had been the same cold, desperate sort of panic that had hit her before, and he could still smell it just at the back of her mind; subdued but by no means gone. To be honest, he was surprised she'd been able to pull out of it so quickly on her own, when last time, it had seemed like Victor had been the only thing in the world that was able to calm her. Before he would wonder if he was disappointed that she'd done it without him, he realized that she had slipped his hand and was leaning against him, eyes closed. Her ear was to his chest, listening to his heartbeat again and syncing her breathing to his. Her scent sweetened and her knees stopped shaking. She let out a long, shakey breath, and opened her eyes. She was blushing slightly when she finally looked back up and met his eyes.

Ayasha had never known a gaze so piercing. It was like he was trying to learn everything there was to know about her just from looking, and it didn't seem all that unlikely that he'd succeed. She'd seen that he had blue eyes before, but now with a longer, much closer look, she realized that they were more stormy, the icy blue mixed with flecks of dark flint and pale gray. She had been on a day trip to the ocean once, that had been cut short by a sudden storm. Victor's eyes reminded her of the water when the wind first began to rise and the clouds opened with a clap of thunder. Her blush deepened and she looked away.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I started remembering things about the... hospital... place..." She trailed off and let go of his shirt, sucking on the finger with the cracked nail.

Victor waited for a few moments before taking a half step back. The air around him still prickled with sharpness, but it had stopped its wild fluctuations the second he touched the girl. The whole house had filed with the smell of her anxiety, and he wrinkled his nose. The smell of her blood was there too, sweet and warm. But it wasn't mixed with the terror he was so accustomed to in frails, and it set him strangely ill at ease. He grabbed her hand, turning it over to examine the wound. The crack started about halfway up the nail, the tender nail bed having been spared. He let go, a smear of her blood on his thumb. He made sure that she saw him lick the blood away, showing a flash of fang with his slight grin.

Ayasha couldn't help but jump a little. She suddenly remembered the first time a boy had actually stared at her with interest. It was the only thing she could think of that remotely resembled the gaze in Victor's eyes. The implication made her bite her bottom lip and look down at her feet. She had never been very good where such things were concerned. Not even with Terra...

Victor walked into the kitchen and tossed a box of band-aids at her, cutting through the memories and present awkwardness. She just barely caught it, and pulled one out. "How many eggs you want?" Her stomach growled loudly before she could answer, and he chuckled, smirking at her.

"Three, please..." she muttered. "Thank you." She shuffled over to the big table and sat down as he rifled through the fridge. Victor greasing two massive cast iron pans, filling one with chunks sawed from a huge leg of ham, and after turning on both burners, cracked eight of the biggest eggs Ayasha had ever seen into the second and began to scramble them with a spatula. Neither of them said anything else as delicious smells filled the house, slowly overtaking the stink of Ayasha's panic.


	2. The Fall

_A/N__: Hiya! Here's chapter two! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed! It's super encouraging! So, this chapter is gonna have a lot of plot at the end, bringing more of the Marvel universe into play. Now, I'm trying to have the actual smut stuff take place later, but also make it realistic for Victor, since we all know he's not the most patient of people. If anyone has any tips, feel free to let me know. I'm happy to get constructive criticism as long as it's given kindly!_

_ Please let me know what you think of the story, of how I'm writing Victor, and especially of Ayasha. I've never written a person of color before, and I'm trying to get all the physical details right. It helps to have a physical image to look at. If anyone knows of any pictures of people of black and Native American heritage, please send them my way! One more thing; anyone know some good music that would fit Victor?_

_ I don't own or make any money from Marvel's characters or other name brands that may be mentioned. Sorry for the long author's note! Enjoy!_

TWO:

Creed found that the domesticity of cooking a frail breakfast rankled him. It wasn't like he'd never fed them before, but by this point they were usually too bruised and broken to be around him while he prepared the food. And if they were, they certainly never sat calmly at his table with a fucking contented smile pulling at the corners of their mouth. But that was exactly what Ayasha was doing. She still looked and smelled flustered, and a little uneasy, but she wasn't scared of him. He made her nervous, wary, and a little confused, not frightened; even when he made a point of showing his fangs or claws. The taste of her blood lingered on his tongue, the predator in him wanting more.

He opened a wax paper package from the fridge, started up a third pan, and dropped a thick, bloody steak into it. For some reason, he didn't want to tear into the frail quite yet, and with as sweet as her blood had been, the slab of venison would have to slake his bloodlust for the time being. He let one side sear, then picked it up between two claws and flipped it over, still minding the ham and eggs, adding lots of hot sauce to the latter. He was mildly surprised when the girl made a happy sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

"My mom was French-Creole; I grew up on spicy food," she said with a shrug.

His only response a non-committal grunt, Victor pulled the _very _rare deer steak from the pan to a waiting plate and turned off the burner. He smelled the frail's surprise, and tore a bloody chunk free with his claws before popping it into his mouth. Scooping the ham and eggs onto the other plates, he brought out a gallon of gatorade, filing Ayasha's glass before taking a long drink from the bottle. He got out the flatware and sat down to eat.

"Thank you." He grunted again and focused on his food. They ate in silence contentment pouring off the girl. She used the knife and fork this time, but still ate with gusto; she never thought that ham and eggs could be so delicious. She heard Victor chuckle at her voraciousness, and shot him an almost reproachful glance before returning to her breakfast. She wouldn't be laughed at for enjoying food, dammit. And by god, was she enjoying it. "You're a good cook," she announced when her plate was clean and her glass empty.

He made a small sorting noise and blinked. Then he outright laughed; he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually _laughed_. "Been called a lotta things, frail. Don't think 'good cook' has ever been one of 'em."

She looked almost indignant. "Well you _are_. There's lots of ways to fuck up eggs." She paused. "Um... why do you call me 'frail' all the time? My name's Ayasha. Ayasha Saint-Clair."

Victor was _certain_ that no woman had ever asked that particular question. "You feeling particularly robust at the moment?" he said, raising a brow.

She opened her mouth, paused, and shut it again. "No... I guess not," she admitted.

"Besides, compared to me, pretty much everyone's frail." The fact that she looked even more indignant than before—almost angry—made him smirk. Usually, women were too busy being terrified of him to feel anything else, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about Ayasha's lack of fear. Yes, she was _wary_ of him—he was a big, intimidating stranger—but it wasn't the same thing. "Saint-Clair, huh?" It was an old creole name. "Mother's?"

"Yeah. She never changed hers, and Dad thought that Ayasha Saint-Clair sounded better." She thought those personal details were harmless enough. She may have trusted the feral for the most part, but she still hardly new him. "He had his dad's name. I liked Cloud Runner, though."

_Cloud Runner... _The name seemed oddly familiar, but Victor couldn't place it. And considering how long he'd been alive, he could hardly be expected to remember the names of everyone he'd ever met. He filed the name away for later consideration. That file was growing by the day. He had already put someone on the unknown medical facility and the frail herself, and knew it wouldn't take long for them to get back to him. He may have been a loner, but he had still amassed considerable contacts and assets over the decades; they might as well be put to use. He'd ask about the name Cloud Runner when they spoke again.

If he wasn't fucking Ayasha, he might as well get something interesting and/or entertaining out of the deal until he did. He saw that her cracked nail had started bleeding again, and got to his feet. She made to stand as well, but he pushed her down by the shoulder as he moved behind her chair. "Stay," he ordered.

Ayasha felt the heat of him through the wooden slats of the chair as he passed, and his elbow tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. She caught a whiff of his wild, earthy musk, and was surprised at how pleasant she found the scent. It put her in mind of mountains and decaying pine needles on the forest floor; a predator of some of the world's last remaining wilderness. She didn't understand why her cheeks heated or why something that wasn't quite a shiver rolled down her spine. She didn't look up when Victor paused, keeping her eyes down until he walked back into the hall.

Victor found himself caught between confusion and smugness. He'd smelled the frail's faint flicker of excitement when he'd brushed against her; not quite arousal, but not all that far from it, either. Normally, that would have been a signal for him to see how far he could push the attraction until fear took over. But not just now. He was expecting an important call. He retrieved a first aid kit from the bathroom and brought it back out to the frail. Hell, frails were the only reason he had the thing. Sometimes, even after he broke them, he wanted to keep them around for a while. He made sure that one of his claws brushed Ayasha's wrist when she took the kit from him, and then left again without a word.

His cellphone began to buzz before he even reached his desk. At least Circuit was punctual. "Creed," he answered, closing the bedroom door.

It was a woman's voice on the other end, raspy from years of smoking. "Does trouble find you, Mr. Creed, or do you go looking for it?" Circuit said.

That wasn't exactly what Victor had been expecting. "Little bit of both I guess. Got the girl's last name; Ayasha—"

"Saint-Clair. There weren't any other missing persons matching your very detailed description." There was smug pride in the techno-path's voice. "Ayasha Isadora Saint-Clair, born on the Saginaw Chippewa Reservation on April ninth to parents James Cloud Runner and Estelle Saint-Clair. Graduated university last year, one barely used credit card in her name. Both parents dead ten years ago, no siblings. All pretty ordinary." A pause and the sound of Circuit taking a long pull from her cigarette. "Except there's traces of SHIELD all around her since day one."

The woman had always had a flair for the dramatic that Creed didn't care for, and he remained silent until she continued. "They've never brought her in for anything, or so much as spoken to her on some pretext, even after that mess in New York last year. They've acquired all her school transcripts and every medical record. They even have the shit from when she broke her ankle when she was eight!"

That was _definitely_ not what Victor had been expecting, and it temporarily put wherever she'd been held on the back burner. He'd been expecting some some small time, suedo-company experimenting on mutants. Not fucking _SHIELD_. But they weren't anywhere near as goody-goody as they claimed, so they might have had something to do with it. They usually steered clear of anything to do with mutants, though. "The fuck does SHIELD want with a little mutant frail?"

"No idea. And... the info is... _funky_ some how." Victor growled a warning. "It's all genuine, Creed, don't worry. There's just something off. I'll tell you when I know more. Anything else?"

"Look into her dad's family history," he said after a moment.

"Will do." The call ended with a click.

Victor tapped his claws against the back of the phone, thinking. As easy as it would have been able to scare the information out of her, he doubted that Ayasha had known anything about SHIELD. He'd never really dealt with them, but he knew that they were good at what they did. If they didn't want you to know that they were watching you, you usually didn't. Jimmy would know more about them, but Victor wasn't about to as _him_ any favors. Wade might know something too, but just because Wade thought he knew something didn't mean it was true; saying the kid wasn't right in the head anymore was putting it mildly. Growling, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, and yanked his bedroom door open with a good deal more force that was necessary.

000

After cleaning and bandaging her finger, Ayasha found some latex rubber gloves. She couldn't imagine Victor having any actual dish washing gloves, so these would have to do. Then she gathered up the dishes and started hot water running in the big metal sink. The water heated much faster than it had in her apartment, and she was soon scrubbing at the remains of breakfast. She hadn't had a proper one in a long time, even before the coma. Her job at the local grocery had had her rolling out of bed before the sun, into the shower, and then out the door. There had barely been time for a cup of coffee and a couple pieces of peanut butter toast. She wondered if she should offer to make lunch as a thank you to Victor... She had to do _something_ to make herself feel useful, especially after all the man had done—and was still doing—for her.

She managed to finish the dishes without wetting her bandages, and set them all to dry on the counter. She returned to her seat, but was unable to sit still. She re-braided her hair, and tugged at the damp cuffs of her shirtsleeves. With nothing else to occupy herself, her thoughts turned to Victor. She still wasn't sure what to make of him. She had been trying _not_ to think about the man that had been chasing her. In fact she hardly remembered that night. But she did know that the man was dead, and that he was dead because Victor had _killed_ him. Killed with the same ease she'd use to swat a mosquito. That ease made her certain that it wasn't the first time that the feral mutant had taken a life. Ayasha wasn't exactly a stranger to death an violence, but she had never really been able to completely numb herself to them.

Part of her wanted to be terrified, to feel guilty that the man had been killed because of _her_. But she knew that if not for Victor, the man would have made good on all his shouted threats and taken her back to the needles and tubes and monitors and restraints. Every instinct she had rebelled at that thought, and she knew that she would do anything to avoid that fate. Her own vehemence to remain free at any cost almost frightened her. But Ayasha squared her shoulders and sat up straight. There was no shame in wanting to live, in wanting freedom. And there was no shame in being willing to fight for it.

Not wanting to be pulled back into fear and panic, Ayasha forced herself to think about other aspects of Victor. He'd saved her life, and taken care of her. But everything about him warned of danger, making some small part of her afraid. It was a primal fear, the way a rabbit knew to fear a shadow from above. He looked at her like a predator, like she was prey that he was stalking, appraising, waiting for the best moment to attack. And yet he continued to care for her, feeding her and making sure that her wounds were tended to. He was almost gentle, and it clashed badly with the wildness that clung to him.

And for all her instincts telling her that this man was dangerous, and for her to be as afraid of him as she was of going back to the room, she found his presence oddly calming. He was easily more frightening than any of the fears that currently plagued her, and it was easy to forget that fear when he was close. Even if he seemed to do his utmost to put himself close enough to make her feel awkward and uncomfortable.

Most of the time, that was exactly what happened; Ayasha had never been good with closeness, physical or otherwise. And when he'd moved behind her chair, she was almost certain that he'd brushed against her on purpose, just to elicit a response. It had made her stomach do that stupid little flip-flop... She didn't understand _that_ response at all, and, remembering how annoyingly perceptive ferals could be, she was sure that Victor had somehow noticed.

"For fuck's sake, Aya'!" she growled to herself, scrubbing her hands over her face in a vain attempt to banish the lingering blush.

The low chuckle from the hall made her start and curse as she looked up. She was sure that the smirk Victor was directing her way made the color rush back to her cheeks full force. She looked stubbornly down at the table. "I didn't just want to leave the dishes," she muttered. She felt rather than heard him draw closer, and was able to contain another jump of surprise when his clawed hand reached out and easily gathered up both of her smaller ones.

"Keep 'em clean," Victor said, turning her hands over and giving them a cursory sniff. "No infection. Keep it that way." It would piss him off to no end—beyond being just plain embarrassing—if the frail got an infection and died of natural causes under his roof.

After he released her, Ayasha prodded the scabbed, bruised, and swollen knuckles on her right hand. "Haven't hit anyone like that in a _long_ time," she remarked idly, wincing a little when she flexed her fingers.

"You been in a fight before, frail?" She pulled down the collar of her shirt slightly to show a thick, inch long horizontal scar at the top of her left breast. For someone as seasoned in violence and injuries as Victor, an explanation wasn't really necessary. He half grinned and raised a brow at her. "Someone stabbed you... so you punched them?"

Ayasha rolled her eyes and let go of her shirt. "No, other way around. Some asshole thought it was okay to rip a thirteen-year-old girl's shirt open. I decided he'd look better with a broken nose, and apparently he disagreed." Her tone was even and matter-of-fact.

Victor full on grinned. He was strangely proud of his frail. He wasn't exactly a champion of women, but he enjoyed the idea of Ayasha punching someone for picking on a little girl. "You were what, sixteen?" At her look he added, "that scar is about six years old, and I'd put you at twenty-two."

"Uh, yeah... I was sixteen," she admitted, rubbing the old wound absentmindedly. "My heart stopped three times. I was actually dead for almost five minutes in total."

A shadow flickered across her face, telling Victor that she could still remember the event clearly. He knew that look, and the feelings that went with it. He knew what it was like to feel the world fade away, for the blackness to close over your head. He never thought that he'd meet a frail that he could relate to on any level. And yet here one sat... Little Ayasha Isadora Saint-Clair, who didn't see a monster when she looked at him, who actually fucking _trusted_ him. Little Ayasha, who knew what it was like to die and come back.

He reached out, dragging her collar down again with a claw. She stiffened, but didn't move. It had definitely been deep, and with the likely downward angle, it could easily have hit her heart. The frail was lucky to be alive. The corner of his mouth twitched with a smile; he liked how tough his frail was. She leaned away slightly, and his claw pulled through her shirt like butter. She made a small sound and blushed again, fingering the tear.

"Keep blushing like that, frail, and I might just think that ya want something from me," Victor purred, chucking her under the chin.

Ayasha jumped, but didn't flinch, stealing a glance at him and trying to read his face. She definitely considered him attractive, her chest tightening and stomach fluttering when he touched her. _'He's acting almost like he... _wants_ me.'_ The thought made her want to squirm, but she forced herself to keep still.

Victor could smell it on her; his touch excited her. Her scent was mostly nervous and confused, but the arousal was there all the same. If he did things right, she might actually end up _wanting_ him to fuck her. Now that was a game he hadn't played in a _long_ time. Most frails weren't worth the time; he used them for a fuck—whether they wanted it or not—and that was all. The predator in him stirred at the prospect of a chase. It sounded like fun. Still smirking, he walked over to the wood stove. He opened the vents before tossing several logs onto the bright coals, shutting the door again.

"I was wondering..." it took all of Ayasha's willpower to keep her voice from catching, "if I could maybe borrow some scissors, please?" At his silent stare she added, "for my hair. There's matting and it's a mess and it would be easier to start over. Some trimmers would be nice, too, if it's not any trouble..." She pulled absentmindedly at the split ends of her braid.

Creed shrugged. "Stuff's all in the bathroom; use whatever. Just clean up if you make a mess." He decided that now was as good a time as any to lay down some ground rules. "Same goes for the rest of the house. Closed doors are off limits, but you can go anywhere else. Just clean up after yourself. Understand?"

She nodded quickly, getting to her feet. "Yes, thank you," she said quietly. "I could... I could make lunch later... if you want..." It was about the only thing she could think of to say thank you and to help herself feel at least a little useful.

He made a non-committal sound. "I'll let you know." He turned and went back down the hall, vanishing again behind his bedroom door.

Ayasha waited a few moments before shuffling into the bathroom. It didn't take her long to find what she needed, and she laid it out neatly on the counter. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized the skinny girl that looked back at her. She planned on making herself look even more different. She no longer wanted to look like that girl, the girl that had been trapped in that room for so long... The girl that whoever had put her there would probably be looking for.

000

Victor had returned to the living room and was stretched out on the couch with a newspaper when she reemerged. He looked up and blinked. It was quite a change. She'd shaved away the slight matting on the left side, sweeping what was left over towards the other side. It now hung in choppy layers a few inches below her ear, a stray wisp trying to fall into her eyes. Her Native American blood was even more noticeable now, the new cut baring her long, slender neck. His cock twitched at the thought of biting into it, but it went unnoticed in his loose sweatpants.

Ayasha found herself wondering if he didn't like it, the idea making her oddly uncomfortable. She fidgeted with the torn collar of her shirt, tucking her hair behind her ear. He crooked a finger at her, silently ordering her closer. She hesitated a beat before walking over, stopping at what she thought was out of arms reach. But she'd miscalculated, and Victor grabbed her hip, yanking her closer. He turned her slightly, looking at first one side of her head and then the other. She tried to squirm out of his grip, but his hand tightened, claws pricking her skin and making her squeak. She froze, and her hand dropped to grab his wrist, not pulling or trying to pry it away. She just held it, body tense and eyes watching him warily. The pain didn't bother her—her threshold was quite high—but she didn't know how to react to the possessive way he held her.

He ignored her touch, still considering the change. "Suits you," he finally decided. He retracted his claws but kept his and on her hip. He thought for a moment, dropping his newspaper on the floor. One of his legs had been hanging off the couch, and he used it to sweep Ayasha's feet from under her, at the same time yanking her down onto him.

"Woah!" She hit his broad chest with a solid thump, his arm instantly snaking around her back and pinning her against him. Instantly she was struggling, trying to pull away and panic rising in her scent.

"Calm the fuck down," Victor muttered, hardly noticing her struggles. "I ain't doing anything and yer more tired 'n' ya realize." He pricked her with a claw to make her still long enough to think. And now that she was off her feet and laying down, Ayasha realized that she _was_ tired. Exhausted, almost. She blinked in confusion, sending an accusatory glance over her shoulder at her legs that made him chuckle. "You haven't moved under your own power in at least eight months. You lost muscle, and it's not gonna just come back all at once."

She dropped her head onto him and groaned. "All those years of bike riding... wasted!" She flopped dejectedly to the side. Trying to stave off the flustered blushing she knew was coming, she pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She heard him chuckle again, and this time felt the sound begin and rumble in his chest. She freely admitted that it was a pleasant sound. She really _was_ tired now; too tired to stay embarrassed at the forced closeness, but not so tired that she was unable to enjoy the smell of him. The raw wildness in his scent made her think of all the hours she'd spent in Central Park. They were good memories, and the contented feeling spilled over into association with Victor.

Her scent sweetened with contented fatigue, and Victor stared down at the top of her head incredulously. She was fucking _comfortable_ around him! _Him_! Victor _fucking_ Creed; murderer, rapist, and a plethora of other unpleasant things. True, she didn't know about his past, but he knew that she had at least _some_ idea of how dangerous she was; she'd been aware enough to remember when he killed the man chasing her. She wasn't bothered by his fangs and claws—when they weren't breaking her skin, anyways—or the fact that he was a mutant. Granted, she was one too, but had thought herself a normal human until very recently. Her trust in him wasn't totally blind—she was smart enough to be a little wary of him—but the whole thing still sat strangely. He said nothing, and her breathing slowed and evened as she drifted off.

How could she just fall asleep like that? Wrapped in the hold of a vicious and unapologetic predator? Victor scowled. Frails weren't supposed to make him ask so many questions; it pissed him off. But he liked the way she smelled, and the way her body draped over his. He'd never really seen the point in physical contact before or after fucking a woman. But he wasn't going to fuck this one just yet, and found that the relatively chaste contact didn't annoy him as much as he'd expected. Yes, his cock was half hard at the thought of her naked and writhing under him, but he was strangely content to have her sound asleep on his chest, lost to the world.

Claws retracted, Victor lifted a lock of her shortened hair, rubbing it between his fingers. The jet black hair itself was smooth and glossy, but textured into tight waves. It was dry and slightly brittle even though she'd washed it. Wait... women used conditioner to keep their hair from getting dry and shit, didn't they? It was only by chance that he knew that textured hair required different care. Other than that he was happily unaware of women's 'beauty routines'. But the frail would need things before too long. He didn't want to take her out of the house yet; people were probably still looking for her. He'd have her make a list the next time he went on a supply run.

"Yer a real pain in my ass, frail," he muttered, picking his newspaper back up. She only murmured softly and adjusted her head, almost nuzzling his chest. Victor rolled his eyes and went back to reading.

000

Ayasha wasn't surprised when she woke up alone on the couch. She scrubbed at her eyes and looked around. It was dark except for the fire and a strange pale glow from the kitchen. She blinked and rubbed her eyes again. Victor was sitting at the table with a laptop in front of him, the screen throwing his angular face into sharp patches of light and shadow. It was almost eerie, making him look very much the villain. He looked up when he heard her stirring.

The e-mail he was scrolling through was an overview of all the information that Circuit had accumulated on the girl. The rest was in lengthy attached files. The only other important thing that the woman had been able to dig up was a small financial statement for whatever facility that had been holding the frail. It was a list of mostly just normal medical shit you'd find in any nursing home or non-hospital medical facility. Except for a cocktail of chemicals that neither he or the techno-path had ever heard of. Whoever these people were, they had purchased a vast and continuous amount of something called _Hydronavyn, _and had, in all likelihood, been pumping it into the frail for the duration of her captivity.

Victor scowled, drawing a claw through one of the many groves on the table. He'd have to get a bunch of blood tests done now. The frail was already emotionally fragile, as much as she fought against it. He didn't need her body to start breaking down because it had become addicted to some drug. There were lots of other things it could have been, but that didn't change the fact that he had to know exactly what Hydronavyn was and what it did. The idea of someone fucking around with his frail's body made him growl again, claws biting into the wood of the table.

"Mr. Creed?"

He looked over, keen eyes easily seeing the frail sitting up in the dark. Sooner or later, after some of the initial trauma had passed, she'd start asking questions. It was easy to tell that she had a sharp, inquisitive mind, and as much as her captivity had scared her, it had also pissed her off. She'd want to find answers for herself whether Victor looked for them or not, and if she thought for even a second that he knew something, she'd demand he tell her. He hid a smirk at the idea of the frail demanding _anything_ from him.

"You ever heard of a drug called Hydronavyn?" He lifted his tumbler of whiskey from the dark and drained the glass.

"Hydronavyn?" Confusion colored her voice and scent. "No... why?" Her tone turned wary, and her brows furrowed.

"Whoever was holding you was probably dosing you with the stuff," he muttered, tension in his jaw. He could smell the mounting fear. "I'll know what it is before too long." His presence was one thing—he didn't have to actually _do_ anything—but he still didn't know shit about actually helping a frail calm down

"You'll need to do blood tests, right?" Ayasha fingered the crook of her arm.

The fact that she was levelheaded enough to ask such a logical question was a pleasant surprise. But it reminded him of another issue and he scowled. He was going to have to find someone he was sure wouldn't tell anyone about him, the frail, or whatever the results were. The trouble was that in Victor's world, almost anyone could be bought, and betraying an ally was far too often only a question of the right price. He made a decision.

"I'll draw the blood myself." He knew he had the necessary equipment packed away somewhere, and was already going through the few places he'd be able to send the sample. He could ask Circuit, but she could be bought just as easily as any of the others. Though she _had_ been known to turn down the higher bid simply because she liked the other party better. But she was as self-serving as any of them.

"Do... do you have to do it now?" Ayasha said quietly, interrupting his train of thought. She was clutching the crook of one arm and looking towards the wood stove. She knew that it was important to find out what they'd been injecting her with, but the idea of having more needles enter her skin made her blood run cold.

"Yes, frail, now." He might as well do it now. A cold spike of fear went through her scent as Victor got to his feet. He turned on the main light, watching her blink and rub her eyes. You didn't have to have his sense of smell to know that she was afraid. That was too fucking bad; she'd have to deal with it. "Stay there." After a few minutes of rooting around in his closet, Victor found the box he was looking for.

Back in the living room, he found that Ayasha had moved over to the table, sitting at the end opposite his laptop. She was hugging her legs up against her chest, bottom lip pinched between her teeth. The juxtaposition of her fear and her stubborn insistence on doing what needed to be done reminded him a little of the indignant stares she sometimes shot his way. When he walked over she looked up. "Which arm?" she said flatly, her eyes hard.

Victor sat down across from her and set the kit on the table. He took hold of her right arm, and rolled the sleeve up past her elbow. She extended the limb over the table obediently, but he could tell that she was shaking. He set out the blood collection needles and vials, tying latex band around her upper arm and waiting until the vein stood out in the crook of her arm. He swabbed the area and uncapped the needle. Fighting to keep still, Ayasha looked away as the metal neared her skin, clenching her teeth to keep from whimpering when it entered her vein. Victor snapped one vial into the end of the collection needle, watching the glass tube fill with blood. He did this twice more before pressing a gauze pad over the needle and pulling it out.

The three vials went into an insulated box, Ayasha refusing to look in his direction until she heard it latch shut. Going back to the hall, Victor unlocked one of the closed door, vanishing inside. He wasn't gone long, and Ayasha didn't bother getting up from her seat when he came back, turning the overhead light off again. She secured the folded pad of gauze to her arm with a band-aid, rubbing the area gently. She'd had always prided herself on not being squeamish about needles, and hadn't even blinked the last time she went to an actual doctor for a blood test. Now the idea of them made her shake, fear tightening her chest and making it hard to breathe.

When Victor sat down again, he closed his laptop, pouring himself another two fingers of whiskey. She watched him out of the corner of her eye for a few minutes, always looking away any time his eyes slid towards hers. "So... um," she chewed on her bottom lip, "do you know why I was... there?"

"Prolly something t' do with you being a mutant," he said with a shrug. "People and places that do that kinda shit have been around as long as we have."

"But... if I didn't know I was a mutant, whatever powers I _do_ have can't be all that interesting." Her brows were deeply furrowed, lips pursed and pulled to the side. "There's nothing special about me..."

"If that were true, frail, then SHIELD wouldn't be up to its ass in your business."

Ayasha's eyes went wide, and her mouth worked soundlessly for several moments. "SHIELD?!" she squeaked, voice cracking. "What are you talking about?"

Victor continued to look uninterested as he sipped the alcohol. "They've gone out of their way to get their hands on every record of you there is since the day you were born."

"What?! Why would they—? What could possibly—?" Her fear was trampled into the dust with this new information, her mind reeling. "We're talking about the same SHIELD, right? Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and... and Logistics thing? That SHIELD? The ones that recruited Iron Man and the Hulk? _That_ SHIELD?!"

Victor rolled his eyes. "No, frail, the SHIELD that's dedicated to eradicating all life on earth."

"Don't fucking joke!" Ayasha's hands were fists on the table, her indignation and anger plain on her face. "What the hell do they want with me? I don't have a criminal record and neither does anyone in my family. You said since I was _born_?"

Another sip of whiskey. "Even got a copy of yer birth certificate." Her wild frustration was actually pretty funny.

"What the fuck?!" She threw her hands up in the air. "That makes no... wait." Her face tightened and anxiety flared. "They put me in that room?" she breathed.

"Fuck no. If SHIELD had wanted to hold a little like thing like you, they would have. Half-assing it isn't their style. Besides, they don't usually give a shit about mutants."

"Well if they're so interested in me they could have gotten me out," Ayasha seethed, fingers uncurling before balling into fists again. SHIELD was supposed to be the good guys, preventing bad things from happening. She knew that Victor was right. Any time SHIELD apprehended a mutant, they just shipped them right off to the Mutant Response Division. Had the MRD been the ones holding her? "Do you know where I was?" If he found the place where she'd been held, there would almost certainly be answers.

Victor pulled a face, lip curling. "As shitty as the job they did in holding onto you was, no." The payments had come from all over the country, and the goods seemed to have been delivered to an ordinary office building before being shipped off god-knows-where. The inability to find his target was eating at him. He'd put out feelers in several directions, and all but one of them had come back empty. The last one hasn't come back at all. He growled in frustration, digging small bits of wood out of the edge of the table with his claw.

"I can't go back to New York, can I?" Ayasha said forlornly. "My apartment, my roommates..." She had known people that had had to disappear, and the idea of having to do so herself was not at all a pleasant one.

"They filed a missing person report when you didn't come home after a long weekend. But that was over eight months ago, so the cops prolly think yer dead by now." The hurt that flashed across her face made him uncomfortable. "You fucking one of 'em?" His voice had turned into a deadly purr, dripping with venom.

Ayasha let out a short bark of laughter. "No! Jen and Cynthia are about as straight as it gets. They're great, but they definitely like the boys." Her unease lifted slightly as the poisonous look left Victor's face. "So it's like witness protection? No contact with anyone from my 'old life'?" She may have laughed at the end, but everything that had happened before she woke up in the room now seemed so far away, like someone else's memories.

"Guess you could look at it that way."

She let out a short breath, slumping slightly in her seat. Her mind hadn't been this busy since college, and those thoughts had been much more pleasant in comparison. Try as she might, she couldn't cut through the white noise. She eyed the bottle on the table, considering. "Mind if I steal a drink?" she said. Victor raised a brow, but silently slid it over to her. "Thank you." She took the bottle by the neck and lifted it to her lips.

The burn made her give a quick shudder, and she set the bottle down. She had always been realistic about her family, and knew that she was at a high risk for alcoholism. Before the coma, she hardly ever drank anything, hard liquor practically never. But the warmth that had settled in her throat brought back happy memories; birthdays, girls' nights out where she'd had to wrangle her two much more inebriated friends into a cab. A small smile pulled at one corner of her mouth, and she propped her elbows up on the table, resting her chin in her hands.

"Fucking crazy..." And it was totally beyond her to do anything about it. She had always believed that if you couldn't do anything to fix a problem, then you shouldn't waste energy worrying about it. Ayasha decided that this situation was no different. It was a weight off her overly troubled mind, and she took another swig of whiskey before pushing the bottle back. "I'm not gonna worry," she declared. "Can't do shit about it, so I'm not gonna bother." She missed the look of amusement that flickered across Victor's face, but her eyes lingered on him, and after a moment she spoke again. "Why are you doing all this for me? You've obviously dug pretty deep to have found this stuff... Wouldn't it have just been easier to hand me over to the police? Or SHIELD, for that matter?"

Victor's eyes narrowed. "I'm not givin' up what's mine till I'm good and ready," he growled.

Ayasha's first reaction was to blush deeply, before anger quickly flared in her eyes. What wariness she'd had of the feral mutant vanished and she sat up straight. "I don't belong to anyone!" she burst out.

He was around the table and in front of her before she could react, hand tight around her jaw and face inches from hers. "Say an' think whatever the fuck you want frail," he rumbled, voice dangerously quiet. "You're _mine_, Ayasha, and I ain't giving you up to _anyone_."

It was the first time he'd said her name since she'd told it to him, and the way it sounded in his rough baritone sent hot tremors rolling down Ayasha's spine. Her body went rigid and her breath caught in her throat. Victor smelled the flare of arousal, frustration and anger swirling around it. His claim aroused her, and she was pissed at herself for letting it. He locked his eyes on hers, brushing the clawed tip of his thumb along her plump bottom lip. A small bead of blood welled to the surface, and she instinctively licked it away, the tip of her tongue making contact with the claw for a split second.

Her pulse was racing, but she didn't recoil, her dark eyes staring defiantly back. It was only her most base instinct—prey reacting to predator—that made her tremble; if she'd had any choice in the matter she would have been still as stone. Victor chuckled darkly. He wiped away the second small well of blood, and licked it slowly from the pad of his thumb. Ayasha swallowed hard, her jaw clenched. Something primal—some basic instinct—finally forced her to look away, making her submit to the animal higher up in the food chain.

But even though she had broken eye contact, she maintained her posture, back straight, shoulders back, and head held high. Even her most base animal instinct couldn't make her completely submit to him, it simply wasn't in her nature. It only made Victor find her all the more enticing. He chuckled again, returning to his computer on the opposite side the the table. The girl's face was now swallowed by shadow, but the frustrated arousal still poured off her in waves. A smug expression curved Victor's lips.

After a moment he said something, but Ayasha didn't hear him over the blood rushing in her ears. She shook her head. "S-sorry. What?" she said stiffly.

"Tell me more 'bout this other feral you knew," he repeated.

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Do... do I have to use their name?" Her roommates were one thing. Terra was totally another. And considering the topic of the previous exchange, she was feeling rather reticent abut talking about her ex-girlfriend. But she was also anxious to put the business about SHIELD out of her mind.

Victor smirked. "Depends on what you say."

Ayasha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. She took several slow breaths before speaking. "She was a reptilian feral. She had claws, fangs, and patches of scales, so it was pretty easy for people to tell that she was a mutant." Personally, Ayasha had always thought that the opalescent blue-green scales were beautiful, but it had proved to be an uncommon and unpopular opinion. "She was four years older than me, and we met when I was twelve. She was trying to protect this black alley cat from some kids on Halloween. She could have torn them up, but she hated hurting people, no matter who they where." Victor scoffed. He'd never seen any point in resisting his violent animal urges.

"Anyway, the kids lived in my building. So being the twelve-year-old I was, I threatened to tell on them. They ran off, and she and I became friends. When I was sixteen..." She stopped, frowning slightly and looking down.

Victor could tell she was holding an important detail back, and prodded her with a quiet growl.

"When I was sixteen, we started dating," she said quietly. As much as she owed the man, she still didn't enjoy sharing details about her love life.

Another growl from Victor, this one louder, more threatening, and just the slightest bit possessive.

"We... _I_ broke it off after four years." There was sadness in her voice now. "She wanted something I couldn't give."

"Didn't wanna fuck her?" he sneered.

"No." The memories were sad enough that his jab didn't even bother her. "She loved me, and I couldn't return her feelings. I really liked her, and she said she was okay with just that, but..." Pain and self-loathing curdled her scent. "It's too painful to be with someone, knowing that what they want and need most from you is something you can't ever give them."

Victor felt a tide of jealous rage begin to wash over him, claws digging deep groves in the table. Ayasha was _his_! She wasn't allowed to want anyone other than him! But he could still read her scent as clearly and precisely as ever. There were no lingering feelings for the other feral left in the frail. She was only sad that she'd had to hurt the woman. Some of his anger subsided, but he still despised the other girl for wanting what was his. Eventually, he'd be leaving marks on Ayasha, and everyone would know that she was his.

On some level, he had to admit that the idea of her touching another woman was appealing. But not so appealing that he was willing to share. He didn't give a shit about how she identified her sexuality; she wanted him—even if she wouldn't admit to it just yet—and that was enough.

"I really don't want to give you her name. She was special to me and I won't have her picked up by the MRD." Fierce loyalty burned in her eyes and scent, and the idea of her becoming _that_ loyal to _him_ pacified Victor for the time being.

He shook his head. "Not unless she comes lookin' for ya." The sharp edge to his voice was enough to convey his threat; 'You're mine. No one else can touch you'. The look in his eyes was so plain he might has well have said it out loud.

Ayasha blushed again and shifted uncomfortably. She'd opened up to Victor a great deal more tan she'd intended to, then he'd gone and given her that positively _searing_ look, claiming her again without a word. She had never really liked or bought into the idea of 'belonging' to someone. But the idea of such a powerful and frightening creature wanting her to be his—_only _his—stirred something inside her; thrilled her in a way she couldn't describe. That made her supremely uncomfortable, especially since she could still feel the heat lingering between her legs.

_"Fuck! He can probably_ smell_ that!"_

The idea that Victor could smell how turned on she was mortified her, and she flushed crimson, cheeks and ears burning. She shot to her feet and scurried back to the couch, sitting down and pulling the blanket over head like a hood and shrouding her body in the rest. She shot a quick look back at the table when Victor chuckled. Didn't she realize that only mixing the smell of how wet she was with his own scent from his blanket? It was making her incredibly tempting. But he was enjoying this game.

It had been decades since he'd chased a woman this way; teasing and coaxing her until she wanted him so badly she started begging. With how fucked parts of his memory were, he couldn't clearly remember what it felt like to fuck a woman that actually wanted him to. He knew that he'd enjoyed it, but that was the only sure detail. He drained his glass again, watching the frail with lidded eyes. She was still to shaken for him to get what he really wanted from her, but he fucking hated waiting. He growled, earning a furtive glance.

Deciding a distraction was in order, he said, "you got any living relatives?"

The sudden change in topic put Ayasha off balance, and she frowned. Then, she looked as if she had just remembered something, and anxiety spiked hard in her scent. "My grandmother went missing a month before—" She broke off, looking at him with wide eyes. "It's been nine months now..." She bit her bottom lip, trying to recall the details. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten!

Nana Omi—Ominotago, meaning beautiful voice—had always been an active woman, going on nature hikes and canoe trips well into her seventies. But she hadn't ignored the dangers of aging, and had always taken at least one friend along with her. Ayasha could vaguely remember something that the police had said. "She mentioned a trip to Yellowstone Park to a friend, but never followed up about going together." A few days after that she was gone, along with her car and all her camping and hiking gear. They found her car at the park, and everyone simply assumed she'd just had an accident.

Pain tightened Ayasha's chest. "She was always so careful. She had _never_ taken a trip or a hike alone like that..."

Victor had never been a big believer in coincidence, and the fact that Ayasha's only family had gone missing just a month before she was captured was awfully convenient. Her grandmother would have been the only person to keep any kind of investigation going. Then again, most people didn't pay much attention when black or Native American kids went missing. "Mom or dad's side?"

"Dad's. Her full name was Ominotago Rivers. I called her Nana Omi." Her previous frustration forgotten, she turned to face Victor. "The fact that she called a friend about her trip but never followed up doesn't make any sense, 'cause she always hiked with a buddy." She recounted what she could remember, brows furrowed. "I couldn't really keep anyone looking for long, but the park rangers said that they would—my phone!" Her eyes brightened with hope. "They could have called my cell or Jen and Cynthia if they found anything! Can I—?"

Victor cut her off. "No." He already knew what she was going to ask. "Everyone that knows you needs to keep thinking you ran off or that yer dead." She opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a snarl. "I'll look into it. Ask my contact who dug up all the other information on you. That enough to shut you up?"

Ayasha squirmed, resisting the sudden urge to run over and hug the big man. "Thank you," she finally breathed, offering a weak, but truly genuine smile. She had come to respect Victor's word, and truly believed that he'd do all he could to find everything there was to find about her grandmother. It was a huge relief, and after a small sigh, fatigue crashed back around her. "Thank you," she murmured again, laying down. She would think about the mess with SHIELD and her captivity later. Right now, she just wanted to get back to sleep. Refusing to think about anything other than the warmth radiating from the wood stove in front of her and comfort of the blanket and pillow, she eventually succumbed once more to sleep.

Victor rolled his eyes, and opened a new window on his laptop. There had been some strange news lately, and the underworld had been buzzing with equally unusual activity. Now that he had a spare moment, he might as well see what was going on with the rest of the world.

000

Ayasha woke up to the sound of a news broadcast. The house was flooded with light, and the familiar stiffness in her neck told her she'd slept for quite a while. Half sitting up, she saw that Victor was still at his computer, hard gaze riveted on the screen. Had he been there all night? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the look in his eyes was impossible to read. But his jaw was tighter than normal, and he was tapping a claw on his arm. His body language reached through her newly woken haze, and made her both curious and a little worried.

"Mr. Creed?"

Victor only grunted, not looking up. Ayasha frowned. She didn't know what she'd expected, but the lack of response only made her even more curious. Cracking her neck, she pushed herself to her feet. She noticed the chill in the room, and it looked like the fire in the stove had died. Frown deepening, she wrapped the blanket around herself and shuffled over to the table. She hovered hesitantly in front of him, wondering if whatever had such a hold on his attention was something she would be allowed to see.

She could hear the broadcast clearly now, and as the reality of the words dawned on her, Ayasha lunged forward and moved to look at the screen. Her eyes went wide at the images playing out before her, the blanket falling slack and forgotten. The sky above Washington, D. C., looked like a war zone. It was almost as bad as the Battle of New York, but this time it was humans. No outside threat from beyond the known solar system. Three smaller versions of the SHIELD Helicarrier were firing on one another. They were tearing each other apart, falling smoking and burning... and still they kept firing.

"Why...?" She didn't even bother trying to finish; her mind couldn't even fully form the question in her mind.

Her entire ordeal was forgotten as what appeared to be previous footage of Captain America being chased by shield agents flashed in the bottom corner of the screen. Then they were putting him on his knees, restraining him, putting a rifle to his head... It was chaos. Nothing made sense. Wasn't Hydra that crazy Nazi group from World War Two? What the hell did they have to do with SHIELD? Information washed over Ayasha, but it was like watching from outside her own body. She accepted that it was real, that what she was seeing was actually happening, but it was so absurd, so ridiculous that her brain couldn't seem to fully process it.

Victor on the other hand was much more well informed. It seemed that Hydra had been a worm in SHIELD ever since the end of the second World War. Nick Fury—the director of SHIELD—had found out, and been killed for it. He'd told that goody-goody, Steve Rogers, before he'd kicked it, though, and Rodgers had pulled out all the stops to make sure that the truth came to light. Victor had met the Captain once, along with Jimmy during the war. Rogers hadn't cared that they were mutants, but all his talk of honor, of the good and the right, had just annoyed Victor. Jimmy—Logan, had liked him well enough though.

If that was all it had been, Victor wouldn't have cared. But the fact that Hydra had been a part of SHIELD almost from the beginning could pose a problem for him personally. Hydra could have been behind the frail's captivity, and with their secrets pouring out onto the net, they'd be doing everything they could to tie up and silence loose ends. And if Ayasha was one of those loose ends... He closed the laptop sharply, making the girl next to him jump. She stepped back, and he felt her watching him as he got to his feet. He looked down at her, considering. Her quick mind had probably come to a similar conclusion, and there was panic in her eyes.

He grabbed her by the chin, more gently than he had last night, leaning down to stare at her. "This changes_ nothing_, frail," he said. "Whatever-the-fuck is going on, yer still mine, and _no one_ takes what's mine. SHIELD, Hydra; doesn't fucking matter." What did matter, was how the hell she got away if Hydra/SHIELD had been involved.

Ayasha was too stunned for his claim to fluster or anger her. The idea that a group smart enough to infiltrate and remain hidden in SHIELD for decades might be the ones who'd imprisoned her sent all her attempts not to worry diving out the window. She reached up with a shaking hand and touched his wrist. She opened her mouth, but had no idea what to say. The now familiar sensation of anxiety and panic was rising, tightening her chest. Her heart was pounding, her breath quickening and turning shallow. The panic was rising up to swallow her, to pull her back into hopelessness.

Then Victor had a fistful of her hair and was pulling hard. "You said you couldn't do anything about it," he snapped, locking their eyes. "Just because SHIELD got its shit fucked doesn't change anything. I'm still not letting you go, and you gettin' yerself all worked up still isn't gonna do shit, so calm the fuck down."

And just like that, the shock slowly began to fade. Ayasha's hand left his wrist and stretched out to his neck. Victor almost slapped the hand away; he was so used to enemies going for the throat. The frail just laid her fingers over his pulse, pressing gently until she could feel every beat. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and the panic left her scent. They stood there for several moments, with nothing but the sounds of their breathing. When she dropped her hand, Victor let go of her, and she took a half-step back.

"You're right," she said. She had calmed, but her voice was still tight. "I'm not going to be some fuckin' delicate flower that falls apart under pressure." Dark steel flared in her eyes and changed the set of her jaw. She looked downright stubborn now. "I'm going to keep fucking living, and anyone that wants to fuck with that can go fuck a cactus." She spun on her heel, and walked serenely into the kitchen. She was hungry, and she was going to eat. If the laughing mutant behind her had a problem with that, he could go fuck himself, too.

Last night, that particular phrase might have put all kinds of dirty thoughts in her mind. But at the moment, she was too fed up with the world trying to fuck over her life. She opened the fridge and stared into it. "You got plans for that gargantuan amount of ground beef?" she asked, pointing to the massive mixing bowl covered in saran wrap.

"Not as long as yer gonna cook all of it," he said, still grinning. He liked her attitude, and even more, her colorful 'descriptive phrases'.

"Depends." Ayasha retrieved a footstool and opened one of the food cupboards. Victor walked into the kitchen as she rummaged, watching her as he leaned against the counter. After a few moments, she stepped down and returned to the counter with her arms full. He watched her set down several large boxes of spaghetti pasta and a host of bottled spices, most of which were almost empty. She looked up at him. "Do you have any tomato sauce?" He silently retrieved a massive tin can from the top shelf. "Awesome, where do you keep your can opener?" The business-like tone was both annoying and amusing.

One of his fangs had snagged on his bottom lip, and it remained as he reached out, extending his claws. Ayasha's eyes widened slightly, but the spike of fear most frails got was absent from her scent. Victor carved open the can as if it were made of wet paper towel. He peeled the lid back and licked his claw. He watched as the girl busied herself with food preparation. She bustled around the kitchen, getting out bowls and what few measuring implements he had. He'd been around long enough to learn how to cook a great number of things, but usually didn't care enough to do anything. It became clear that she was intending on making a massive amount of spaghetti and meatballs.

She started with the sauce, pouring it into a pot over a low flame. She tasted it as she seasoned, splitting her time between that and seasoning and shaping the meatballs. She moved around Victor easily enough, but he eventually left the kitchen with a few beers, watching over the island counter from the table. She had said that she wasn't going to worry about SHIELD or Hydra, and she was clearly very focused on her cooking. But Victor could see the tightness in her jaw and the stiff way she kept her head up, refusing to be beaten down.

It was a curious thing. Even if she was a mutant, she seemed so fucking human. She was fragile, she cried and panicked. But she saw how useless the worry was and forced herself to rise above it, whether she was emotionally prepared to let go or not. She saw her very human weaknesses and refused them, denied them so totally that they almost fell away. But it was all still there. Victor could smell it all just beneath the surface. It was probably a constant effort to hold it in.

He almost couldn't understand how she managed it. He had never really been able to control the feral, bestial side of his nature when he was young, and as he grew, he decided there wasn't much point in it. Yes, he could be civil when he had to, but the idea of pushing down the mind and body's natural reactions and urges was strange to him. It was one of the few things he failed at. He'd seen Jimmy try to do it all his life, and had ridiculed him for it.

But he felt something strange—maybe admiration?—when he saw the frail's strength of will at controlling herself. Her complete and utter refusal to give in to her human weaknesses, while still remaining so very human... He _liked_ it. And the domesticity of her cooking for the two of them didn't feel nearly as annoying to him as it had before when he'd cooked breakfast.

Victor grinned to himself. _"Feisty little frail."_ He reopened his computer and closed out of the broadcast. He might as well gather what information he could. People like him didn't get by for so long in life by ignoring massive events like this.

000

It had been smelling delicious in the house for quite some time. Ayasha was boiling the pasta and had stirred the meatballs into the sauce. Victor silently rose and swept back into the kitchen. He hovered behind her before leaning in, pressing his chest to her back and making her jump. "You done yet?" He stuck a finger into the bubbling sauce and she squawked at him.

"You'll burn yourself!" He just raised a brow as he sucked the tomato and meat sauce from his finger. It tasted as good as it smelled. Ayasha pressed her lips together and pulled them to the side. She tried to hold the look, but a smirk broke through and she shook her head. "It's almost done. You don't have a strainer, do you?" Victor gave her a 'what do you think?' look. "Thought not." She turned off both burners and eyed the massive pasta pot. It was a big, two handled thing, and getting to the stove while full of water had been hard enough.

Victor decided she was taking too long to come up with a solution, and decided to do it himself. He easily lifted the heavy pot, draining the water and setting it back on the stove. When Ayasha just stared at him, he bared a fang and nodded at the other pot. With a little sigh, she started spooning meat and sauce onto the noodles. She'd already laid out the plates and silverware and piled one dish high with spaghetti and meatballs. As she dished up her own, much smaller, portion, Victor took his to the table and sat down. He was already eating when the frail joined him with a glass of milk and slightly smug smile on her face.

Whether she was more happy with how the food turned out, or with herself for succeeding in keeping her panic in check, he couldn't he sure.

000

_ A/N: There's the second chapter! Sorry it's a bit shorter than the other one, but that just felt like a good place to end it. Please, tell me what you think. I love when people favorite and follow a story, but reviews make my day! Oh, and if anyone wants to beta for me, or knows someone that would like to, let me know. I know not a lot of people wanna read OC stories, so finding a beta reader has been hard. Anyways, till next time!_


	3. Mutation

_A/N: Hi, guys! I'm sorry it's been so long! Life had really had fun time kicking me in the ovaries lately, so I haven't really had time, or been in the mood to write. But here's the third chapter. Now, this chapter has Ayasha thinking about how the racism she's experienced and how her being a mutant can possibly add to the situation. I'm white, so I have a limited resource for these sort of things. If what I've written is offensive in any way, let me know how I should be doing it! It didn't want it to enter into things a great deal, since I don't want Ayasha to be defined solely by her skin color or mutation. But they are a reality, so I think it needed to be mentioned. Anyways! Enjoy!_

THREE:

There were hardly any leftovers, but Ayasha packed them away anyway. Victor returned to his computer, but she felt him watching her every now and then. She knew that he was looking for signs of another breakdown, and she was well aware that she was walking a very fine line. _Telling_ yourself not to worry about something because you couldn't change it was one thing. Actually managing _not_ to worry about it was totally another. Especially when she considered what could be at stake. But trying to think about or remember any part of her ordeal had become dangerous, so she tried to put it out of her mind altogether.

Cleaning up the kitchen was enough to distract her for a while, but after she was done, nervous energy still hummed under her skin. Her fingers tapped nervously on the counter as she looked around for something to do. Eventually she found herself wandering over to the kitchen window. She realized now that she'd never looked outside. It was still somewhat early in the year, so the snow from the storm she'd arrived in was melting, leaving patches of grass to be seen here and there in a large, open front yard. She could just see the corner of a large barn a short ways away from the house.

But the sheer number of trees and the amount of open space was what really took her breath away. Central Park was big, but not like this. Victor's home seemed to be built on the top of a gradual rise, and Ayasha could see for _miles _down a winding gravel road. Nothing but pines and patches of grass in the snow. She stared for a long time, but the amount of open space and lack of human habitation started making her nervous, and her joy and wonder faded. She left the window, shuffling towards the couch. When she wasn't greeted by the usual warmth from the stove, she cracked the vents and opened the door on the side.

"The fire's out," she said. "Like really out. No embers..." She paused, biting her lip before adding, "um, do you think you could teach me how to start a fire?" Her tone was oddly shy, as if she were embarrassed at not knowing how to do something that Victor probably considered basic knowledge. But the request pleased him. If the frail was his, she should probably learn a few useful things.

Bringing a box of matches from the kitchen, he pulled a small slatted crate from behind the wood box. The crate was full of old newspapers and dry tree bark. "Dry bark makes some of th' best kindling, but any small, dry wood'll do." He lifted a stack of papers and separated a page. "Never use magazines or glossy shit like that. It smokes more 'n' it burns and the chemicals fucking stink. Make a layer of bark in the ashes. Put th' pieces on top of each other so that air can move around. Yeah, like that." He pushed the stack of paper over to her and crumpled the sheet he was holding into a ball. "Pack the paper into balls; make sure they're tight. Then make a nest of it on toppa the bark."

Nodding, Ayasha began pulling pages from the paper and balling them up. After a few moments she looked up at Victor. "Is this enough?"

"Keep goin'. I'll tell ya when to stop." To keep them from unrolling—the first one she put in the stove started to expand the instant she set it down—she wedged the crumpled paper between her knees. She waited until Victor said, "enough," before nesting them in the stove on top of the bark. "'Nother layer of bark on top. Thicker 'n' the bottom one." When that was done to his satisfaction, he handed her the matches. "Light the paper all over; back, middle, and on the sides." It took two strikes for the match to light, and Ayasha did as instructed. "Wait until the bark's actually on fire, then put on some small logs. After those catch 'n' burn for a bit, you can throw on the big stuff."

After finding three small logs in the wood box, Ayasha watched the fire intently. After Victor nodded, she tossed them in. Throwing in the last one got her a small burn on the knuckle of her right thumb. She hissed, yanking the hand back and lifting it towards her mouth. Victor caught her wrist, pulling her hand over for inspection. Lifting it to his face, he sniffed the bright pink skin, then licked it. It was hot and raw.

The strange, roughened texture of his tongue made Ayasha wince. "Ow! Hey..." She tugged lightly at her hand.

He waited a moment before letting go, making sure she knew that he released her only because he had been ready to, not because of her pulling. The oddly cat-like reaction made Ayasha smile, but the feeling behind it was weak, and the expression quickly faded. Creed was still amazed at how clearly he could smell her emotions. It was almost accurate enough to be telepathy, and considering his experiences with people with such abilities, he wasn't sure how he felt about that. But saying that it was easy for him to read the girl was a massive understatement.

As much as she fought and pushed at it, unease was eating at her. She'd ordered herself not to worry, forcing the troubles to the back of her mind. But the feelings were new; violent and raw. They were too fresh and powerful to be ignored for long. Her policy not to waste energy worrying about things you couldn't change was a good one, but only if she could actually let go of the feelings. Right now, with so much happening to and around her at once, letting go was going to be almost impossible.

By rights waking up in the situation she had would leave most 'normal' people mad with fear. Ayasha had been clearheaded enough to make an escape. She'd come out of prolonged unconsciousness fighting, and had _kept_ fighting. Victor knew she had the strength to overcome this. It was just a matter of her believing it too.

They sat in silence, watching the flames dance hungrily around the logs, feeling the heat on their faces. After a while, Victor tossed on a few big logs and shut the door, leaving one of the vents open. Ayasha crawled around and crouched in front of the hearth, legs hugged up against her chest and chin resting on her knees. Her face was blank as she stared at the grate, but he had a pretty good idea of what was going through her head; her scent laid it all out for him, plain as day. His lip curled and he straightened. Sweeping over to the couch, he dropped down, long legs stretched out before him.

"Frail," he growled.

Normally, there would be a small flare of annoyance for not using her name. But Ayasha only exhaled and looked over her shoulder. Victor crooked a finger. "C'mere." She blinked, then slowly got to her feet. She sat down next to him without a word, crossing her legs. There was a weak undertone of self-consciousness in her scent, but it was nothing like the way she usually smelled when he forced her to be close to him. He eyed her profile with a frown. He should probably say something... Reassure her?

He'd already told her that he wasn't giving her up, and he wouldn't, not for anything. That should have been reassuring enough, right? She was his until she died or he got tired of her, and she was still too surrounded by unanswered questions for him to be bored. But it was her sass and snarkiness that he really liked. She wasn't afraid to joke at him, and always seemed ready to throw his sarcasm back at him with a smile.

That smile... When was the last time someone had smile at him—kindly—and actually fucking _meant_ it?

For decades, he hadn't given a shit about what people thought of him; he _liked_ being a monster. But now that someone thought something different, that _didn't_ see a monster when they looked at him, Victor didn't know what to do with himself. Under any other circumstances, he would have killed anyone that caused this much inner turmoil. He told himself Ayasha was still alive because he was enjoying the chase so much. But she wouldn't be any fun if she kept up like this; listless, uninterested, and quiet. Victor prodded her lightly in the ribs. "I told you I wasn't giving you up, frail. Doesn't matter who comes after you." He gripped her chin and made her turn, locking his eyes with hers. "Yer gonna stay with me. Yer _mine_."

Color tinged Ayasha's cheeks and she looked away. A thick, heavy, and empty feeling had settled in her chest, dulling the frustration and confused excitement that Victor's touch and claim had elicited before. Too much was happening at once; too many feelings and thoughts. It was easier to try not to feel _any_ of them, rather than try to sort the good from the bad. "I know," she muttered. "I know I'm safe with you..." She knew that she should have told him that she belonged to no one but herself; that he couldn't just _decide_ that he owned her. But it was simply so much easier not to confront the intense feelings he caused.

Victor growled and shook her, making her look at him again. "That shit you're holding down? It won't stay buried forever, frail. Don't matter who you are. You either deal with it... or get the fuck over it and move on."

She knew he was right; if she wasn't going to face her fear, then she would have to let go of it. Facing her fear meant being afraid... meant being weak. Weakness wasn't an option any more. Victor hadn't been holding on all that tightly, and she was allowed to shake free, getting to her feet. "I'm—I'll be fine," she said firmly, forcing herself to meet his narrowed eyes. "I _will_." She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with some of that dark steel. It wasn't as strong as it had been, but it was something.

He rose to his feet, looming over her as a smirk moved over his face. He leaned in, making Ayasha shiver and her breath hitch. Victor dragged the back of a claw over her cheek and down the side of her neck. "You'd fuckin' better," he purred. "Yer a lot more fun when yer not mopin' around." He let her take a step back, but held her gaze a moment longer before he turned, walking to the table and gathering up his laptop. He shot once last glance over his broad shoulder before returning to his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

When the latch clicked, Ayasha let out a shuddering breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her shoulders sagging. She dropped back onto the couch and ran a hand through her hair. As overwhelmed as she was feeling, there was now a little spark of light, deep down inside her, that refused to go out. Victor had basically said that he _enjoyed_ the time he spent around her. As a guest in his home, Ayasha was glad that she didn't annoy him. But being told, no matter how off-handed the delivery, that her company was at least mildly pleasant, was a nice feeling.

The confused smile on her face was weak, but it lingered, a stubborn little ember in the darkness. Her eyes slid from the fire to the beginning of the many bookshelves. An idea came to her, hope hot on its heels as she pushed onto her feet again. One arm wrapped around her middle, the other lifted, fingers dragging lightly across the spines as she walked along the shelves. It wasn't as organized as a library, but the pattern she found made sense. She found what she'd been hoping for on the third shelf, and her eyes brightened. She hadn't pegged Victor as the type to enjoy fantasy, but the titles all of J. R. R. Tolkien's books were staring out at her.

Almost reverently, she took The Fellowship of the Ring down from the shelf. It was an old hardback copy, with a plain cover and faded gold lettering. The corners of the cover were slightly frayed, and there were four, faint parallel scratches across the back cover. It took Ayasha only a moment to recognize the marks from Victor's claws, and it somehow tickled her to know that he had, in all likelihood, actually read the book more than once. Smiling faintly, she opened to the title page, then froze, eyes widening.

There was a _signature_ there, at the bottom of the page. The round, looping letters looked almost Elvish, and she lifted the book closer. Squinting, she ran her fingers gingerly over the lettering. Her mouth fell open when she felt the indentations; the kind a fountain pen made when scrawling swiftly across the page. It was a _genuine_ Tolkien signature! Ayasha's mind boggled; she couldn't imagine Victor standing in line to get a book signed. He must have picked it up somewhere, probably for a large sum of money.

Most of her unease and recent events forgotten, Ayasha hugged the book to her chest and returned to her seat. Crossing her legs under her, she opened to the prologue. The warm, musty smell of old paper and ink rose up to greet her like a familiar friend. It brought to mind the countless chilly afternoons she'd spent inside, curled under her mother's crocheted afghan with a cup of tea and a good book. She liked spending time with her few close friends, but she'd chose a solitary corner and a book over a party any day. It was so blissfully easy to forget the troubles of the world when she could lose herself in the words. Everything around her would just fall away, replaced by the world coming vividly to life on the pages in her hands.

This particular tale was a familiar comfort she was glad to indulge in, even if Tolkien could be a bit long-winded in his descriptions. It was the perfect thing to empty her mind of any troublesome thoughts. She had never been one for skipping prologues, and she saw no reason to start now.

_"This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history."_

Ayasha's smile grew as the words wrapped her in the warmth of familiarity, temporarily banishing both anxiety and emptiness. It didn't matter if the story took a while to get started; it was a world easy to get lost in. A world without Hydra or SHIELD. Without needles. She knew who the enemy was and exactly what they wanted. So she buried herself in Middle Earth, and when masked assassins never came bursting in, intent on her capture, she was able to forget her troubles completely.

She heard Victor's voice coming from his room at some point; it sounded like he was on the phone. Whatever he was saying was too muffled for her to make out, but his tone was calm and even; nothing to fret over. Before long, she was so absorbed in the tale, that she didn't even notice when he walked up behind the couch, leaning forward and reading over her shoulder.

"Figured you'd pick somethin' like this," he chuckled. Ayasha shot to her feet, launching herself forward and spinning around, her eyes wild. Fear burst around her, but turned quickly to anger when she realized that it was only Victor. "Scare ya, frail?" he laughed.

"Don't _do_ that!" The feeling of fight or flight evaporated, and her shoulders slumped. Normally, she'd have made a snarky remark, somewhere along the lines of resenting being cast as the prey in a game of cat and mouse. But the circumstances were far from normal, and she just didn't have the energy. She bent and retrieved the book from where it had fallen, carefully smoothing the pages. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Was just really absorbed in the story..." She missed the downward pull at the corners of Victor's mouth as she sat back down, her back against the arm of the couch.

Frowning slightly, he walked around and dropped down, the couch creaking loudly in protest. Ayasha looked up once, but her gaze was flat, and she quickly looked back to the book. He scrutinized her; something was very different about the frail, but nothing looked or smelled all that out of place. It wasn't just her lack of response; that didn't surprise him all that much, considering how her day had started. Something _else_ was different, and the facet that he couldn't pin down what it was pissed Victor off.

He growled softly, turning to glare at the wood stove. It took her a moment, but his sound roused her from the fantasy she'd been trying to hide in again. She blinked, focusing in on Victor. He was hard to read when he wanted to be, but didn't seem to be making that effort today. His tight jaw made tendons stand out in his neck, and the way he sat—legs and arms spread to take up as much space as possible; showing off just how large he was—were dead giveaways to some kind of stress.

It wasn't the scared or worried kind of stress—was he even capable of that?—it was _angry_... and restless. His claws had punctured the leather where they rested on the opposite arm of the couch, his other arm stretched out along the back, reaching towards Ayasha. There were punctures there too, his hand easily within her reach.

Usually, if someone she knew was in such a state, Ayasha would have taken that hand, giving a comforting or reassuring squeeze. It wasn't the claws that were stopping her now. Some base, animal instinct was warning her away from making physical contact of any kind with Victor at the moment. Under the angry look in his eyes, she glimpsed what she could only describe as the gaze of a captive and pacing tiger, almost anxious.

He was unable to stay still but had nothing to put his energy into. As much as instinct was telling her to remain silent and go back to her book, she really didn't like seeing the man who'd saved her life like this. She was used to him being easy going in that strange, primal way of his, always ready with a sarcastic comment or something to make her feel self conscious.

She wanted to help, but what could _she_ possibly say or do to put a man like _this_ at ease? Her brows furrowed and she bit her lip. Caring about how Victor was feeling made it easy to forget her own troubles. She closed the book and shifted slightly, thinking. She decided that she had two options. _'Do I ask what's bothering him or do I try to distract him by talking about something else?'_ She didn't think that she knew him well enough to get him to talk about how he was feeling, but asking questions in order _to_ get to know him might not be the best idea either. But she didn't just want to leave him stewing like he was...

"Um... how long have you... lived here?" It was a a disjointed and awkward start, but it wasn't too personal, so at least it was _something_.

He blinked and turned his head to look at her. He had expected the frail to vanish back into the book, remaining silent for the foreseeable future. Instead, she was now looking looking at him with hesitant but genuine curiosity. She wasn't making small talk; she _really_ wanted to know the answer.  
"The fuck you wanna know that for?" he muttered, looking back at the fire.

Ayasha pressed her lips together; of course he wouldn't just cooperate with her plan to distract him. "Well... it looks like a pretty old house, but you've obviously kept it in good condition, and that takes a lot of work... Doesn't feel like you just moved in here, either..."

Victor felt the air around him suddenly sharpen, and realized what had been bothering him about the frail earlier. With her forcing down _all_ her feelings along with her anxiety, the sharpness in the air he'd come to expect around her had all but vanished. Now that she was talking, and waiting—almost eagerly—for his response, it was back, if at a slightly weaker level. It seemed that whatever her mutation was, its power was somehow tied to the strength of her thoughts and feelings. Feeling curious, he decided to answer.

"Owned the place for about forty years. Only been really livin' here for the last twenty, though. On and off."

Her brows came together. "Owned it for forty—? Wait, how old are you?" She quickly added, "if you don't mind me asking."

The sharpness in the air rose with her intensified curiosity, and a grin tugged at Victor's lips. No point in lying to the frail. And besides, this could be entertaining... "Don't bother keepin' track any more. Loses its meaning after the first century or so." He got exactly the reaction he'd hoped for, and grinned widely as she gaped at him.

Her jaw dropped and her eye went wide. "C-century?!" The word came out as a startled squawk, her mouth working soundlessly. It was several moments before she was able to speak again, letting out a big breath and leaning back. "Well... you're certainly the best looking centenarian _I've_ ever seen."

He couldn't help but chuckle, his mood improving. It wasn't the usual response he got, but the frail had _never_ reacted to him or anything he told her in the _usual_ way, so why start now? She was exceptionally good at rolling with the punches, taking things as they were presented and not wasting much time trying to wrap her head around them. But she didn't just accept everything at face value, either; she wasn't gullible. She was the type to deal with the moment as it happened, examining it critically later on. In Victor's opinion, it wasn't a terrible way to go about life.

"Stopped aging 'round twenty-five or thirty." He shrugged. His expression and tone were casual, but he was very much enjoying Ayasha's flabbergasted look.

"Okay... That makes you old enough to have fought in World War Two, at _least_..."

"That, the first World War, the Civil War..." He practically _never_ talked about his past, but the expressions and smells the frail was producing were too enjoyable to pass up. She was just staring again, slack-jawed and at a total loss for words. He was even older than that too, but his memories had been fucked over so many times he wasn't sure of a lot of the details. He chuckled again, a little louder this time, expression close to an actual smile now.

"Is... is it a healing factor?" Ayasha finally asked. "T—my ex had one and I guess the aging of the body could be considered injuries, so it makes sense..." She trailed off, chewing her bottom lip.

Victor didn't care for the mention of her ex-girlfriend, but her guess was correct. It was a good thing Ayasha was as bright as she was; the mysteries surrounding her would only have entertained Victor for so long if the girl had been stupid. "Yeah." He only knew of a couple other mutants with a healing factor as powerful as his. One he spoke to barely once a year, and their 'speaking' was more along the lines of trying to literally tear each other to shreds. The other mutant was just fucking nuts; good to have at our back in a fight, but batshit insane.

Meanwhile, Ayasha was trying to wrap her head around the idea of living for well over a century. Victor had probably been a part of some of the most pivotal moments in history, not to mention watching as the world advanced and changed while time stood still for him. Yes, everyone saw the world change and grow to some degree during their lives, but what Victor must have seen would be on an entirely different scale. She found herself in awe, her respect for the man growing considerably.

A rather personal question fell out of her mouth before she could think better of it. "Did... did you _fight_ in all those wars?" she said quietly. Her lack of consideration for his personal privacy made Ayasha wince. "Sorry! None of my business..."

"No, it's not, but I don't give a shit," Victor said. "Yeah, I did. Always been good at fighting; military made sense. That... and the look the fucker who shot you gets when you don't die never gets old." He also just loved killing. He was _good_ at it, one of the best. It was play to him. It was like everyone around him was made of tissue paper; one tiny flick of his claws and he could kill any one of them. It was child's play, and he'd never felt more alive than when he was in the thick of a brawl, claws dripping with blood as his enemy's life faded away. It was even more invigorating to kill someone if they could put up a decent fight against him.

"That's... Wow..." Ayasha let out another heavy breath. Being able to overcome any injury or bodily harm, no mater how severe, was something a lot of the people she'd grown up around would have killed for. Every loving parent would have moved heaven and earth to give their child such an ability. But... in living so long, you would inevitably watch people you cared about—had Victor ever had anyone like that?—grow old and die, while you remained young and healthy. The thought made Ayasha's chest tighten and ache, a lump threatening to rise in her throat. She shook it off and quickly offered a grin. Anything resembling pity would probably just piss Victor off. "You'd make a hell of a history teacher."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Probably not. Don't much give a shit about the past unless it can help me now."

"What, were you not paying attention?" she teased, eyes glittering with sudden mirth. Her scent was sweet and warm, the sharpness in the surrounding air a pleasant buzz. Victor felt himself relaxing, the last traces of his bad mood evaporating before the frail's dark, laughing eyes.

"If there's a good fight to be had, I don't really give a fuck about why. An' keepin' track of all the political bullshit is a pain in the ass."

She rolled her eyes at him, but the kind smile remained. "I'm pretty sure my grandfather was in the military," she said after a moment. "No one actually ever said so, but it was the impression I got." Thinking about her grandfather reminded her of Nana Omi, and she quickly changed the subject. "So if you've only had this place for forty years, where did you live before?"

Victor had scented her moment of distress, but let it pass. He shrugged. "Lotsa places." He tilted his head slightly and regarded her curiously. "The hell you wanna know so much about me alluva sudden, anyway?"

Ayasha shifted nervously, a self-conscious blush warming her cheeks. "Well, you dug up all that info that SHIELD had on me, so you know all about me..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I didn't know that much about _you,_ so..."

"Maybe that's how I like it, frail," he said with a toothy grin.

She instantly felt bad for asking so many questions, but played it off by rolling her eyes and smirking at him again. "Playing the 'mysterious stranger'? Rescuing and protecting the damsel in distress?"

His grinned widened, and he leaned towards her, showing his fangs. "Nah, I'm the monster that kidnaps virgins and threatens their virtue."

A shiver raced down her spine and she blushed deeply. But she didn't miss a beat, quickly throwing back a retort. "Only threatens? You'll never get anywhere as a villain that way. The best monsters are the ones that make the damsels _want_ to give up their virtue."

The shift was instant. Victor's gaze turned predatory and he was suddenly much closer, his thick arms on either side of her, trapping Ayasha against the couch. Her chest tightened and her breath caught in her throat. The wild, earthy musk of his scent washed over her, boosting her already climbing heart rate. She pressed her body back as deeply into the arm of the couch as it would go, but Victor followed, only inches between his face and hers.

"You like monsters, do ya, frail?" His voice was a sedate purr spread over a predator's growl.

Ayasha's mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed hard, trying not to show how fast her body was wanting her to breathe. She licked her lips, very aware of Victor's eyes following the flick of her tongue. "I—I think the term 'monster' is relative." Her voice quavered slightly as she spoke, but she didn't break eye contact. "One person's monster is another person's savior..." Victor blinked as the meaning behind her words settled in, but his stare proved to be too much, and she looked away before continuing. "And yes. I find villains and 'monsters' more fun and interesting to read and think about... if that answers your question..."

It was killing her not to watch Victor for some sign as to what he'd do next. But she'd never been the focus of something as intense as his stare, and had no idea how to deal with it. Her heart was racing, heat settling and growing in her core. She wasn't so naive that she didn't recognize the arousal in her body for what it was, but the how and why of it was just as impossible to deal with as Victor's continued stare.

It was also more intense than anything she'd dealt with a long, long time. It was making her hands wanted to reach out and touch the arms on either side of her, to move down them to his chest, radiating heat in front of her. But the ferocity of his eyes had scared her a little. She felt half frozen, body immobilized and heart trying to pound its way right out of her chest. But she wasn't quite scared enough to want to run just yet.

Victor was very aware of all of these things, her scent easily giving away her frustrated and embarrassed arousal. But his brain was still suck on what she'd said. Monster _and_ savior, huh? Could a person really be both? Yes, he _had_ saved Ayasha, but the word 'savior' had such clean and noble connotations. He was neither of those things, not by any stretch of the imagination. Was that really how she saw him? As her noble protector and savior? He knew she wasn't stupid enough to miss how dangerous he was, and he was damn sure she knew that he'd killed the man that had been chasing her.

And now she knew that he'd been in the military; she knew that he'd been fighting and killing for far longer than she'd even been alive. But she didn't smell of the fear that usually enveloped people when they learned about his past. Maybe that just hadn't dawned on her yet. But he could _smell_ how wet she'd gotten, and it was almost too much to resist. He didn't want the game he was playing to end just yet, but he felt like he go nuts if he didn't at least get a taste.

He lifted his hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging to get her to face him again. Ayasha met his eyes for a moment, but was unable to maintain the contact. He considered ordering her to look at him, but it would be more fun to take her unawares. As his mouth crashed over hers, he decided that surprise had never tasted sweeter. Her lips parted in a gasp and he took full advantage of the opening.

He expected instant resistance, even a futile attempt to push him away. So when she didn't try to jerk back, and even responded to him a little, it was his turn to be surprised. But it didn't stop him from enjoying himself. There was nothing gentle about the contact; his kiss was hard and demanding, fangs pricking and scraping her lips.

Ayasha whimpered softly as she felt the skin break and a small smear of blood rise to the surface, but she didn't pull away. Her mind felt like it was swimming in sand, refusing to focus on anything other than how it felt to be kissed by Victor. His tongue had an almost cat-like roughness to it, but it wasn't actually unpleasant. Losing to the heat and sensations, Ayasha responded, her tongue meeting his shyly at first, but gaining in confidence.

Mouth pulling into a half smirk against hers, Victor tugged on her hair, forcing her to lean back, letting him deepen the kiss. He knew that if he didn't stop soon, he'd devour her entirely right then an and there. But, God, did she taste sweet. The sharpness in the air had spiked severely, creating a heady buzz around them. His claws bit into the leather where he gripped the couch, some remote part of him thinking that it had given way more easily than usual.

Finally breaking away, Victor caught and held Ayasha's gaze, her eyes wide and pupils blown. "Best be careful, frail," he rumbled, smearing his thumb against her slowly bleeding lip. "Most monsters'd kill for a taste of something as sweet as you." He chuckled as she blushed, her senses rushing back to her.

She was breathless, the kiss having turned the flicker of heat between her legs into an insistent and needy ache. How the hell did just a kiss fucking accomplish that, anyways?! And _why_ had he done it in the first fucking place?! Confusion colored her flushed features and she stared at Victor. He was mildly surprised to see that she wasn't scared or angry at him, just curious, confused, frustrated, and self-conscious. He seemed especially good at inspiring those feelings in her.

Sucking her blood from his thumb, he grinned at her wolfishly. "Said you were mine, didn't I?" Fervent denial bubbled in her chest, but didn't have the strength to reach her mouth to be voiced. Victor got to his feet, and she looked away, too flustered to say anything that would make sense. "Quit worryin' about all that shit. What's th' point if ya can't do anything about it, right?"

He waited until she nodded before grabbing a beer from the fridge and drifting smugly back to his room. The scent of the frail's frustrated arousal would only ensure his good mood. Given her reaction to him, he probably _could_ have had her right there without a single protest. But she'd simply been caught up in the moment, surprised and overwhelmed by him. She hadn't had time to think. He'd decided that he wanted her practically mad with need, wanting him even in moments when she was alone and had her wits about her. That would take a bit more time, but Victor was a patient man... when he wanted to be.

Ayasha felt like screaming when he was gone. Not a scream of fear or shock, but a howl of pure frustration and confusion. She wasn't going to deny how turned on she was. She'd already been mildly physically attracted to him, and his kiss had been more heated and passionate than any other she'd ever received. One might even go so far as to call it carnal. It was the 'why' of the situation that was eating at her. It wasn't that she didn't understand how someone could be attracted to her. What she couldn't wrap her head around was that _Victor_ was that someone.

He had been alive for at _least_ two centuries; what could possibly attract him to someone as ordinary as her? She conveniently forgot about SHIELD monitoring her every movie since birth. When she tried to picture the kind of woman she imagined Victor wanting, she saw a tall and elegant woman, just as dangerous and deadly as he was. She could also only see him with someone as equally long lived. Try as she might, Ayasha just couldn't picture him with a small young woman who'd grow old and die in about sixty years.

_'He'll easily out live me.'_ The realization hit with a painful twinge she hadn't expected, and her chest tightened. Trying to picture _any_ sort of relationship with Victor was pointless. She'd grow, age, and eventually die. He would not. But as depressing as that thought was, it didn't do much to lessen the heat inside her, or stop her from remembering the kiss in vivid detail. The stinging in her mildly swollen lips was another reminder that made the event impossible to ignore. She touched them gently, hands coming away with three small spots of crimson.

Licking her lips, Ayasha winced slightly at the sting. Terra had been paranoid about _her_ fangs and claws, being gentle with the other girl to a fault. She had more than enough control to bite without injecting venom, but had always refused even little nips, for fear of causing harm. Victor obviously had no such reservations. He was nothing like Terra, completely at ease with his feral nature, reveling in it. It didn't seem to matter what he was doing; he embraced the beast within in every aspect of life, including even—it seemed—intimate moments.

As much as the small wounds stung, she was forced to admit to herself that she had enjoyed the process of getting them. But the timing was fucking _terrible_. Her emotions had already been massive train wreck; dumping a sudden, powerful physical attraction on top of that mess was just asking for trouble. She knew that if she continued to dwell on it, it would become just another strand of the anxiety she was tangled up in. Anxiety lead to panic and fear, and that wasn't an option any more. As difficult as it was going to be, she would just have to do her best to forget that the kiss had ever happened.

Ayasha shook her head, scrubbing a hand over her face and through her hair. She had to clench and shake out her hands a few times before she could reach for her book without them shaking. Sucking lightly on her tender bottom lip, she flipped back to where she'd left off, and did her utmost to force herself back into the story.

000

Days passed uneventfully after that. Victor made no more advances, but it felt like he went out of his way to force Ayasha into situations where she'd have to stand or sit close to him. No one came to return her to captivity, but she was never able to totally relax. To combat that, she kept her thoughts and feelings superficial, trying not to delve too deeply into anything.

Thinking seriously about anything too much could easily bring up thoughts that had the potential to put her on the fast track to panic. Panic meant fear, and fear was weakness. Ayasha couldn't afford to be weak right now. The idea, not only of just being weak in general, but being weak in front of _Victor_ had become abhorrent to her. And how much _that_ mattered was a bit unsettling.

She distracted herself by exercising. Every day she tried to spend _at least_ a total of four hours trying to rebuild what muscle she had lost. This gave her both a voracious appetite and made her exceptionally sleepy. Victor guessed that she was sleeping a total of twelve hours in a day, split between a small chunk of deep rem sleep in the early hours, and several naps throughout the day. But the sleep had become less recuperative; it was often fitful. It was the one place she couldn't control her thoughts, and more than once she'd awoken with a scream, drenched in sweat and stinking of terror and rage. Victor was discovering he didn't like the smell of fear on a frail when he wasn't the one causing it.

He didn't say a word when this happened. He would simply sit down on the couch with her, sometimes pulling her up against him, at others just letting her rest her feet against the side of his leg. No matter how bad her dreams had been, his nearness usually let Ayasha fall back asleep. How easily he relaxed her felt awkward and strange; it was almost enough to unnerve him. She'd done her best to put his kiss out of her mind, but couldn't totally shake it, and it showed. She was also sure that he always got some sort of amusement out of flustering her.

The days became weeks, and both of them noticed her progress and the changes in her body; her dedication was paying off. Curves were starting to return, and Ayasha's clothes were no longer quite so baggy. If she kept up the pace, before too long, the sports bras that Victor had bought would become inadequate. She didn't relish the idea of having to be measured for a proper one. As comfortable as she was with her body, she still had a mild dislike of showing it to strangers, even other women. A few women's toiletries had appeared in the bathroom, but they were travel-sized—the sort you'd pick up at a gas station—and wouldn't last much longer.

Victor wasn't fond of the idea of taking his frail with him on a supply run. The world had always been a mess, but Hydra's exposure and the fall of SHIELD had turned that mess into a particularly spectacular cluster-fuck. If Hydra really _was_ behind Ayasha's sloppy captivity, and were now rushing to tie up all their loose ends, taking her out into town was _not_ a good idea. Yes, they couldn't kill him, and that they'd be royally fucked in a face-to-face fight, no matter how many of them there were. But, no matter how unlikely, it _was_ possible for him to be incapacitated and the frail taken from him. That wasn't an option he was going to entertain. He didn't give up his playthings until _he _wanted to; it didn't matter who else wanted it. But the supply run was unavoidable.

So one morning, after a breakfast of jalapeno and sausage omelets made by Ayasha, Victor dropped a pad of paper and a pen in front of her. "I'm goin' out today. Make a list of the crap you need. Soap, shit for your hair, whatever." He was leaning against the counter, picking his teeth with a claw.

Ayasha slowly picked up the pen. "You said, 'I'm going'... Am _I_ not—"

"No," Victor said plainly. "Yer pretty little ass is staying put." He smirked a little when she instantly pursed her lips and looked away.

"Oh... okay." She quickly focused on the list to keep from being bothered by being left totally left alone. Most of the list was easy. She hesitated about putting down the hair treatment she usually used—it was sort of a luxury item—but her hair was so dried out, that it was starting to feel like straw. She put down several of the cheaper brands under her first choice, and the list was soon finished. When she was done, she slid it back over to Victor. He picked it up and looked it over.

After a moment he pulled something from his pocket, tossing a key and and a simple flip phone down onto the the table. "Pay attention; I'm not gonna fuckin' repeat myself. There's two numbers on that phone. First one is me." He tapped his cell in his back pocket. "The other one I want you to call if I'm not back in five hours without calling first. You're gonna call me if anyone—_anyone—_comes poking around. If I don' answer, you call the second number and tell 'em your name.

"Then you use the key to unlock the door closest to the bedroom. Go in and lock the door behind you; you'll be picked up within half an hour. There's a keypad out back and only me 'n' them have the codes. The door'll unlock sixty seconds after they input the code. You go with them, an' wait for me." Ayasha was looking rather wide-eyed at this point. As an after thought, he added, "don't use the key unless you have to; I'll know if you do. You got all that, frail?"

She nodded dumbly. She was trying not to imagine what might prevent a man like Victor from returning home, unconsciously chewing her bottom lip. She knew that worrying about him was silly; he'd survived multiple wars and had said that bullets barely fazed him. She also knew that he could easily thrash anyone stupid enough to try and start something with him. He'd be fine, Ayasha knew that.

But... He was also the biggest obstacle between her and whoever her captors had been. The idea of him being gone—even if only for a few hours—left her feeling exposed. Recognizing that feeling _instantly_ pissed her off; she'd been able to take care of and defend herself for _years_, dammit! She didn't want to be so fucking dependent on this man! But she couldn't deny that she wouldn't have made it on her own. She owed her life and freedom to Victor.

That only compounded her frustration; she'd always prided herself on being able to take care of herself _by_ herself, no matter what life threw at her. Noticing the frowning look Victor was giving her, Ayasha remembered that he could usually tell how she was feeling by the changes in her scent. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head.

"Sorry, yeah. I understand. I'll prolly just read until you get back." She stood and leaned across the table, reaching for Victor's plate.

One stride over to the table and he had grabbed her wrist. "Don't go freakin' out on me, frail," he said, his quiet voice coming across—as it always did—as a soft growl. There was probably more he could have said or done to make her feel better, but he wasn't really the comforting sort of person. How Ayasha found his presence calming still baffled him. She nodded, and he released her. His eyes followed as she carried the dishes over to the sink and started the hot water. She definitely had more of an ass now than when he'd found her, and he took a moment to enjoy the view.

Her injuries were progressing just as well. He was actually mildly surprised at how quickly her body was healing. Ayasha no longer winced when she walked, and the only reminder of how bruised and swollen her knuckles had been was a slightly darker patch of skin. The track marks on her arms had been fading, but the only time Victor ever saw them was when she rolled up her sleeves to do the dishes. Muscle tone was returning, especially in her legs. Even though she'd mentioned missing her bicycle once or twice, she seemed to be doing just fine with her squats, lunges, and various legs lifts.

She pretended to ignore him when he watched her do them, but he could tell she felt self-conscious. That was also usually why he did it in the first place.

Victor was still admiring the view when Ayasha spoke, raising her voice slightly over the clank and splash of dishes. "Do you... Um, I'd like to get some shoes before too long... Boots would probably be better." She glanced over her shoulder, a very calm, matter-of-fact look coming over her face. "I'm not gonna stay inside forever, and unless you somehow have a man's size six laying around..."

He thought about telling her that she didn't have a choice in whether or not she went outside, but instead let out a coarse bark of laughter. "Haven't worn something that fuckin' small since I was seven." Ayasha rolled her eyes and started rinsing off the soap, a scrap of a smile quirking her lips. "I got some rubber boots with the rest of yer clothes. They're prolly too big, but they're in the closet by the front door."

She turned to face him. And there was that happy, grateful look, again. It was a bit weaker than before, but it was no less genuine. "Thank you." Her voice was happy and earnest, her feet fidgeting slightly. She really was grateful for Victor's generosity, but it still felt strange for someone she hardly knew to do so much for her, all without asking anything in return.

Being grateful wouldn't stop her from speaking her mind, however. "I want to go out. Not into town or anything, just outside. It's a lot more open space than I'm use to, but I feel like an invalid, staying inside all the time." Her head lifted and her shoulders squared, her look becoming stubborn, and Victor was pretty sure she was determined to go and breathe fresh air no matter what he said. He could always lock her up, but that would turn her into a panicked, terrified mess, ruining the contented scent that had been rolling off her all morning. But her being scared of and angry at him was much better than someone else—who wasn't even around any more—causing her anxiety. _He_ was the only one allowed to scare his frail.

As much as he tried not to think about it, Victor had gotten used to—maybe even _liked—_the way Ayasha didn't flinch or shudder when he touched or came near her. It was far beyond different from the way women usually acted around him. She would sometimes blush and try to scoot away, but it was never out of fear. And she trusted him. _Actually_ fucking _trusted_ him. She'd even been worried about his well being just now, even if it was a stupid thing to be concerned about. Her wariness of him as a stranger had all but vanished, and she actually seemed to enjoy his company when he wasn't making her feel flustered or nervous—all on purpose, of course.

Usually, in order for someone to enjoy the company of Victor Creed, a certain amount of violent, brutal insanity was required. That, or a massive amount of lying and play-acting on Victor's part. While he hadn't exactly given her the full run down of all his numerous crimes, he'd seen no advantage in actively trying to hide it from her either.

Ayasha might have been a little unstable, but she certainly wasn't insane. A normal, sane person not minding being around him put Victor smack-dab in the middle of unfamiliar territory. That sort of thing usually made him edgy. But instead he felt rather curious, along with several other things he either didn't know, or had forgotten the names to. He didn't want this strange new thing to be over just yet, so he decided against locking her up for the time being.

"Stay in the back yard," he said, coming back to the task at hand. She was go out no matter what he said, so he might as well give her some proper guidelines. "If you cut yerself or start bleeding for some reason, come back in. Predators are hungry this time of year, and that makes 'em ballsy. I don't wanna have to drag your ass out of a bear's den or some shit."

Ayasha blanched slightly. The largest, actually _wild_ animals she'd ever dealt with had been the raccoons that rooted around in the trash. (She was fairly certain that anything she'd seen in the zoo didn't really count as wild.) She knew that Canada was a wild place, but the idea of actually coming face-to-muzzle with with any of that wildlife hadn't actually occurred to her. "I'd be surprised if _any_ predator had the balls to come anywhere _near_ your territory," she muttered, starting to grin.

Victor chuckled. "Few young males, out on their own, try every now an' then." He bared his fangs and flexed his claws. "Few bites usually send 'em running with their tails between their legs."

She stared at him, half wondering if he was joking. But the idea of Victor fighting off a bear with his bare hands—and teeth—wasn't all that hard to imagine. The mental image of a young bear turning tail and running for the hills widened her grin and eased her trepidation. "And the boys back home thought they were tough throwing rocks at raccoons from their windows," she snickered, shaking her head. She finished the dishes with the occasional giggle, feeling much less nervous about staying behind while Victor went shopping. _'Victor in a super-market... There's another amusing picture.'_

After drying and putting away the dishes, she refreshed her mug of what had been about half coffee, half sugar. Victor's eyes trailed down her arms to her hands, watching her fingers as they twirled a spoon through the steaming mixture. They were log, slender digits—piano player's hands—tapering into strong, quick growing nails. He lingered on the nail of her right pointer finger, the one that had cracked down the middle during her panic attack at the bookshelf.

Something caught his eye, and he shifted, staring now. The place where the nail grew out from the skin of the finger looked decidedly different from the others; it was much more narrow and pointed, and he was sure he would have remembered if it had been like that from the beginning. Stepping forward, he snatched her hand up by the wrist, dragging it up to his eye level.

"Hey!" Ayasha's spoon clattered to the floor, Victor ignoring both it and her outburst. He ran a calloused but still sensitive fingertip over the nail, feeling the ridge of the crack. The nail bed was about half the width of the others, narrowing into a small, rounded point. The nail growing out of it was thicker too. There wasn't raw skin or a scab inside the small gap the crack made, like their should have been. It looked like there was fresh, hard fingernail growing beneath it, slowly widening the crack and pushing aside the top layer of nail. No matter how tough a person was, without a healing factor, it took ages for fingernails to repair themselves.

Squinting, and ignoring her insistent tug, he brought her hand even closer. As he stared, he realized that not only was there nail tissue growing beneath the crack, a _whole other fingernail_ was developing under the cracked one. And the new nail had a _very_ distinctive look; the only time Victor ever saw nails like this was on clawed ferals.

A growl rumbled in his chest and Ayasha tugged on her hand again. "What's so damned interesting?" she muttered, annoyed and curious at the same time.

His eyes slid down to hers, and he lowered her hand—not letting it go—for her to see. "There's a claw growin' in under yer cracked nail," he rumbled quietly.

Curiosity became confusion, and she blinked dumbly up at Victor. When she tugged on her hand a third time, he released it, crossing his arms over his chest and watching her face. Ayasha turned slightly for better light and brought her finger close. Silence settled and stretched as she stared, turning and adjusting her hand every now and then.

"What the _actual fuck_...?" she finally murmured, looking up from her hand to Victor, and back again. It wasn't anywhere _near_ the same as his claws, but it was definitely in the same ballpark. "This isn't right... The fuck?!" Her sharp mind was already scrambling for possible explanations. "I'm not a feral mutant, am I?"

Victor instantly shook his head. "Nah. Only feral on you is my scent." Ayasha was too busy being confused to bother with bashfulness. "Prolly _does_ have something to do with yer mutation, though."

She bit the inside of her cheek, brows coming together. "Could I... am I mimicking you? Mirroring _your_ mutation?"

He blinked. The idea made some sense. He'd met a mutant that could absorb people's life force and memories through skin contact. If whoever she touched was a mutant, she also temporarily gained their abilities, at considerable cost to them. If Ayasha was anything like that, then her mutation certainly went about it differently. His curiosity peaked, Victor reached out and sliced the back of her hand with a claw.

Blood flowed and the frail cried out, clutching the wound and taking several swift steps away from him. "Shit! What the fuck, Victor?!" she snarled, glaring at him. The confusion, anger, and hurt in her eyes made something twinge inside him.

Victor rolled his eyes. "I didn't cut ya deep. I was testin' a theory. Show me."

Ayasha looked like she wanted to tell him to go _fuck_ his theory, or maybe stab him with something sharp and pointy. Probably both. All the same, she edged back over to him, eyes narrowed as she slowly uncovered her hand and held it out to the feral. The shaken trust he could see and smell on her made him feel uncomfortable in a strange way, and he quickly brushed it aside. He took her hand, making an effort to be somewhat gentle. She squeaked when he licked the blood away with his rough, cat-like tongue, fighting the urge to yank away from him again. Her first instinct was to get as far from him as possible. But he was, for now, her only possible source for answers. So she stayed still, her other hand balling into a fist at her side.

When the blood was gone, he stared intently at the wound. It was only a few moments before he had his answer. The bleeding had stopped and the cut was already starting to close. It was going many times slower than his own healing factor, but it was still closing at an abnormally quick rate for anyone's body, human or mutant. He turned her hand to show her.

It took a few moments for Ayasha to understand what she was seeing. Victor didn't seem to have any plans on letting go again, so she stepped closer, lifting her other hand to prod at the cut. The already complete scab broke and oozed a slow drop of blood before slowly closing again. The wrinkles on her brow deepened, and her mouth worked soundlessly as her mind searched for words. While the frail was trying to wrap her head around this newest development, the feral was thinking about something else, tho not entirely unrelated.

He had been slicing up flesh—human, mutant, animal—with his claws long enough to know every detail of the mechanics and sensations of the act. He knew all the subtle variations, and how to exert the exact amount of pressure needed to achieve the desired result. He could exercise perfect and exacting control. When he wanted to, anyway. His intent had been to cause no more damage than a moderate paper cut. Instead, his claw had cut like the accidental slip of a brand new razor.

It wasn't that he'd lost control, or misjudged the force he put into the motion. His abilities were on a significantly higher level than usual. People who didn't know Victor usually wrote him off as an unintelligent brute, and he often played along, using their underestimation to his advantage. But a criminal of his caliber didn't maintain his freedom without a considerably keen intellect. He knew himself inside and out, backwards and forwards. He was _definitely_ stronger, and now he was all but certain that it had everything to do with Ayasha and the odd sharpness she brought to the air.

"Yer a catalyst," he told her, letting go of her hand. "Seems like you take in a mutation, absorb some of it, and turn it back on its owner, magnified." He looked at his claws, flexing them. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together. He could feel the sharpness a bit differently now, too. Not only was it in the air, but he could feel it humming under his skin, in his blood and bones. He could _feel_ the difference in power , and it awoke the familiar thrill of knowing that he was _stronger_, that he would be the undisputed winner in almost any fight.

Ayasha didn't know how to react. It wasn't that she had doubted Victor when he declared her a mutant—she knew to trust a feral's sense of smell—but she hadn't been able to think of any event or detail in her life that proved him right, either. But having _freaking claw_ growing in under her damaged fingernail, and the fact that the cut on the back of her hand was almost completely closed—the going slow but sure—was fairly compelling evidence. She bent and picked up the dropped spoon, putting it on the counter and lifting up her coffee with stiff hands.

"So... I take in your power, send it back stronger, and some of it... sticks around? In me?"

Her host shrugged. "Seems like," he affirmed.

Turning, she leaned her back against the counter, taking long, slow pulls at her coffee. Her scent showed confusion, but no real worry or anxiety. She went along with what Victor said—it made a great deal of sense, after all—and rolled with the punches as she always had. Being a mutant had only been real to her in an abstract, looking-in-from-the-outside sort of way until now. It wasn't like she'd been trying to avoid the subject, but it was now a reality that was impossible to ignore.

"Okay... So I know what my mutant power is. What now?" Her brow had smoothed and her expression was very business-like.

Victor smirked; the frail's pragmatism was hardly surprising. "Nothing's changed. I'm still going on a supply run, and yer still gonna stay here, keeping outta trouble." He just hoped that if anyone _did_ try to come after her, that they weren't a mutant. There was no controlling her ability for the time being; she'd make any mutant potentially coming after her stronger, whether she wanted to or not. He had no doubt he'd be able to dispatch any potential kidnapper, but the power boost might allow them to get in and away with Ayasha before anything could be done to stop them. He made a mental note to make sure that the second contact in her phone was a good deal closer to the house.

Ayasha nodded. "Right. I remember what you told me." She tucked the cell phone and key into her pocket, and finished the last of her coffee. She shuffled past Victor and into the living room. After putting a few logs into the stove, she settled back onto the couch with the final volume of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. She had always been a fast reader, and there weren't exactly a lot of options in keeping her mind busy. If she didn't have something to occupy her thoughts, they tried to stray into dangerous, panic inducing territory. But she was confident that the book and the knowing of—at least a little—what form her mutation took would be more than enough to distract her.

There was a whole slew of new problems that she might have to face. She was more than well acquainted with discrimination. She was a black/Native American bisexual woman; a lot of shit was always bound to come her way. And now, people—if they found out—would have whole new reason to treat her differently. She had always seen a significant amount of fear in people who hated mutants, and it wasn't _quite_ the same as the fear some people had of people of color. But it wasn't anything new to her, just a different flavor of the same shit. Avoiding the MRD would be a new game, though. But it was far from the most important thing she had to worry about.

She still didn't know who had kidnapped her, or for what purpose. The fact that they'd been dosing her with a drug she'd never heard of was pretty hard not to think about. She didn't feel particularly different, and there didn't appear to be any sort of withdrawal going on. Victor had rescued her some time ago now, and the only noticeable change was in her getting her muscle and health back. There was something much worse—at least to Ayasha—going on, but thinking too much about it would put her on the fast track to a complete breakdown.

Ayasha scowled as she turned the page, hardly paying attention to the words. Trying not to think about her missing grandmother was turning her thoughts back to how the world treated mutants. She had always thought that fearing _all_ mutants outright was silly. Yes, some were criminals, but so were a sizable chunk of regular humans. She heard Victor moving around by the front door, and she lowered her book to turn and look. He already had on his coat and boots.

"Hey, Victor?" He looked back at her. "Drive... drive safe," she said quietly. He smirked and rolled his eyes. Then he was out the door, closing and locking it behind him.


	4. Blood and Bone

_**A/N**__**: So I know it's been a REEEEALLY long time since I updated. My life kind of went insane for a really long time. Things were tough and I wasn't feeling all that inspired. BUT I FINISHED A CHAPTER SEE?! Anyways, there's a bit of gore in this chapter, and it may be a few pages short, but I hope you like it!**_

FOUR:

A minute later she heard the sound of and engine turn over, and then the rumble of it slowly fade as it drove away. The silence that closed in after it was almost deafening for a moment. But Ayasha's mind was far too busy to linger on it for long. Soon, she was sifting casually through her memories for some clue about her mutation that she might have missed. She had spent more than ample time around Terra, but had never grown claws, and Terra had never mentioned her powers feeling stronger around Ayasha. If she had known _when_ her power manifested, she'd know what time frame to think about in greater detail. But nothing remotely helpful came to mind, and her mind eventually drifted back to her book and coffee.

000

Most of the people at the store knew Victor, seeing him on his fairly regular—if not entirely frequent—supply runs. But they had hired a new cashier since the feral's last visit, and the kid practically pissed himself when Victor pushed his overburdened cart up to the register. But Victor had to give him credit; scared as he was, the kid clung desperately to his manners and customer service training as he scanned the items.

"D-d-did you f-find everyth-thing alright, s-sir?" he asked, hands shaking but quick moving as he bagged the purchases.

Victor gave a noncommittal grunt and nodded, letting his mouth twitch just enough to let a fang show through. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying terrifying the boy. He paid in cash without a word, loading the bags into the cart. He had never much cared for going shopping, but he liked the idea of the same people delivering to his house over and over even less. Out in the parking lot, he loaded the supplies into his truck and climbed into the cab, leaving the cart where it was. He peeled out onto the street, throwing slush and mud in all directions.

000

The boots Victor had bought were about a size-and-a-half too big, but three layers of socks kept Ayasha's feet from sliding around too much. She'd realized that she didn't know where the back door was only after she'd gotten bundled up, and it took longer that she would like to admit to notice the door in the back of the kitchen. That lead out onto what would have felt like a closed in porch, if it had been for the heavy metal shutters that covered all the windows. This led around the side of the house, the door she found letting her out somewhere behind Victor's bedroom.

The back yard was a large semicircle enclosed by trees, the closest of which growing about six feet from the back of the house. There was a long shed with a tarp hanging across the front up against the back of the house. A peek behind the tarp revealed rows and rows of neatly stacked split logs. Going to back to where she'd come outside, Ayasha moved to look around the porch. Through the trees, she could just make out an old—but not run down—unpainted barn in what she assumed was the front yard. Turning back to the yard, she saw there was another small building to the side of the cleared area, built in a much more sturdy and deliberate fashion.

When she approached the door, she found it barred with several padlocks and a large digital pad which brought to mind the palm-print readers in spy movies. Beyond the yard, the treeline climbed a gradual slope, putting Victor's residence up against what was either a very small mountain or a very large hill, which seemed to stretch out to either side, with no end that Ayasha could see. The strategic location only added to the natural isolation of the landscape, and for a moment she felt very small and alone.

It was only _just_ cold enough for her to see her breath in the air, and she was glad that she had worn several layers on both her top and bottom. While no where near as skinny as she had been on arrival, she still didn't have much in the way of an insulating fat layer to protect from the cold. Gloveless hands shoved into her pockets, she shivered slightly. It was cold, but the crisp air felt good on her face and in her lungs, even if the smell was unfamiliar to her. And even though they were new to her, Ayasha noticed that the scents of the outside seemed more distinct and separated. She wasn't just getting the smell of everything mixed together, but rather what _felt—_it was a vague sensation and defied definition—like all of the individual scents at once.

_'Is this what it's like for Victor all the time?'_ she wondered, inhaling slowly, hoping that more of the smell would help explain this new phenomenon. _ 'He smells everything separately... all at once? He probably hates cities...'_ It was fascinating, but also rather overwhelming. She almost felt like she was walking by one of those perfume stores; strong smells rushing into and overpowering her olfactory senses. Sneezing, she hunched down and lifted her shoulders until the collar of her coat covered her nose, pulling up the hood from the sweatshirt she wore underneath. Her sense of smell dulled, she went back to looking around.

While not her usual locale of choice, it really was amazing. Nature was always beautiful, whether growing stubborn and strong in the face of a loud, bustling city, or spreading out in every direction, gloriously free and unimpeded by the progress of humanity. She was still trying to keep her thoughts superficial in an attempt to prevent herself from getting too worked up. But thinking of nature made her think of Central Park and all the good times she'd had there. The pleasant memories of her home were too hard to shake, and she was soon incredibly homesick.

She missed her apartment, her three ceiling-high bookshelves that took up most of one wall in her room... She missed her roommates and their dogs, her co-workers, her neighbors... And no matter how comfortable Victor's couch was, she missed her own bed. No matter the time of year, she'd always used the blanket that Nana Omi had woven for her when she graduated university a year early. Thinking about her grandmother proved too much for her resolve, and Ayasha's vision blurred with tears.

Her hands balled into fists, her one slightly claw-like nail biting into her skin. A whimper tried to climb its way up her throat and she did her best to choke it back. Her grandmother had been missing for almost a _year_! She _knew_ that she couldn't do anything about it, and she _knew_ that she shouldn't fret about what she couldn't change... But how could she _not_? Nana Omi had been a second mother _and_ father to her after her parents had died. She had been there for Ayasha no matter what, throughout everything, and...

"And it's all my fault..." The realization was like being struck in the chest, stealing the air from her lungs and making it hard to breathe. _'They took her away so that she wouldn't make the police keep looking for me after I was taken. She wouldn't believe I was dead until she touched my body and couldn't find a pulse.'_ She tried without success to swallow the lump growing in her throat. _'And if they _did_ find my body, Nana Omi wouldn't let them rest until they found, tried, and jailed who killed me.' _

A smile fought its way through her sadness for a moment. _'Unless _she_ found them first... They'd never make it to a trial...'_ Ominotago's tenacity had not faded with her age, and her mind was as sharp as ever. Getting on the woman's bad side was _not_ something Ayasha would recommend. She exhaled shakily and rubbed her eyes with one hand, chuckling weakly. "Hope she's giving the motherfuckers hell, whoever they are." A bit of steel had returned to her, and showed in her voice.

She unclenched her other hand, examining the small, blood smeared puncture in her palm. Lifting it to eye level, she narrowed her eyes at the offending claw, and sucked gently at the wound. When most of the blood was gone, Ayasha was able to get a better look. Just like Victor's scratch in the kitchen, the hole in her palm had already begun scabbing over. It wasn't like she could see it closing before her very eyes, but it looked _hours_ old, instead of seconds.

This directed thoughts back to her previous wonderings, and as it was fairly removed from her current turmoil, she grabbed at the question; when had her mutation manifested? _'I don't remember anything like this,'_ she glared at the offending digit before looking back to her palm, _'happening when I was with Terra. No claws, no fast healing. Not that I can _remember_, anyway.'_ She wasn't, by any means, an expert, but she wasn't totally ignorant either. She knew that, for the most part, a mutant's powers usually manifested during adolescence, during a moment of intense emotion.

Ayasha's parents death had occurred several years before puberty set in, so it was unlikely that that had been what set it off. The most likely possibilities had both occurred when she was sixteen; the day she'd been stabbed and been medically dead for a cumulative five minutes, and when she had first kissed Terra, not long after leaving the hospital. They had known each other before the stabbing, but Terra had been too scared of going out in public to visit her friend in the hospital. No matter which event had caused Ayasha's powers to manifest, they would have been present and active around Terra, a feral mutant just like Victor. And god knows they had spent more than enough time together.

As her thoughts gathered momentum, Ayasha began to meander slowly about the yard, the ground slightly soft underfoot from the melted snow. Just because nothing had come immediately to mind, didn't mean that nothing had happened. Now that she had the proper time frame—or at least her best guess at one—it was time fore an in-depth expedition down memory lane. While she alternated between wandering and rhythmic pacing, a few things occurred to her. She'd had a range of injuries since her stabbing; cuts, scrapes, burns, and even one sprain.

Most had been superficial, and after making sure that they were clean, she'd hardly paid the any mind. But a few had been more serious. She'd once grabbed a baking sheet one-handed out of the oven. Without an oven mitt on the other hand, she hadn't been able to grab the sheet when it slipped, and it had hit her soundly in the forearm. The blister had been _monstrous_ and incredibly painful upon occurrence, but the wound hadn't been around long. At the time, Ayasha had simply thought her quick healing was due to being so young. After all, kids usually _did_ heal faster than adults. She knew without looking down that there wasn't even a hint of a scar on her arm. And now looking back, there probably should have been.

She and Terra hadn't been officially dating yet, but they had kissed and were spending lots of time together. Now looking at memories from that time more closely, she realized that she'd always gotten over wounds or illnesses quickly. She'd just assumed that she was young and healthy. _'I guess Terra's healing factor sticking around in me makes more sense, considering the new evidence.'_ She shrugged. It made a hell of a lot more sense than anything else going on in her life at the moment.

With her fingers starting to turn numb from the cold and her nose beginning to run, she decided to go back inside. She walked a bit more slowly now, looking at what the shuttered in porch contained. There were chairs and a table, and when she looked up, old—some very, _very_ old—rifles and what were probably cavalry sabers hung in glass cases above the windows. Everything was dusty except the floor—and the washer-dryer set near the door back to the kitchen—which was probably from Victor walking back and forth to bring in loads of firewood.

Curiosity and the need for distraction got the better of her, and she dragged one of the sturdier feeling chairs up in front of one of the windows, under one of the longer guns. She climbed up on top of it, using the cuff of her jacket to gently wipe away the dust on the front of the case. The wood of the somewhat modern looking gun's body was scuffed, chipped and battered, but had obviously been maintained to some degree. There was a tarnished brass label at the bottom of the mount holding the gun, and she had to put her nose against the glass and squint in order to read what it said.

_M1 Garand _

_est. June, 1944_

It didn't take a genius to know the significance of that month and year, the time the United States entered World War Two at Normandy. Victor hadn't struck Ayasha as the type to enjoy using guns, not when he had such deadly weapons—literally—at his fingertips. But it made sense that he would have at least _had_ some other weapon. If he was in the military, he'd have been issued the same things as everyone else. At least she thought he would have; she knew how the government had treated African Americans in the military at the time, but not how they had regarded mutants.

When she started wondering about the details of what Victor had experienced during all those wars, Ayasha suddenly felt very nosy, and scrambled down from the chair. About to go back into the house, she paused, looking over her shoulder. Victor would know she'd stopped to pay the gun special attention now that she'd moved the chair and wiped away most of the dust on the one case. She didn't much like the idea of him thinking she was snooping around, even though she really hadn't been.

She reentered the main part of the house, but quickly returned with a slightly damp dish rag and a roll of paper towels. Starting at the beginning, she set about dusting all of the glass cases. She hadn't found any window cleaner, so the rag and paper towels would have to do. There hadn't been any furniture polish either, so when she got to the porch furniture—all of it in the same thick, sturdy style as the furniture inside—she just used the dry paper towel. She also made sure that she hadn't tracked in any mud, cleaning her way back to the door leading into the kitchen.

Closing and re-locking the door behind her, Ayasha put away the cleaning supplies. After that, she found herself standing at the counter with nothing to do, fingers drumming against the wood. She could always go back to her book, but her mind was too busy to do anything more than going through the same paragraph over and over again without ever actually reading a word. Needing something to busy herself, she started up another pot of coffee. Victor wasn't the neatest person, but Ayasha had already neatened up yesterday, and there wasn't really much for her to do.

"Gaaah!" She threw up her hands before dragging them over her face and through her hair. She flopped forward over the counter next to the coffee maker, face pressed into the smooth wood. She had always savored time alone, but even when she'd been shut up in her room in the apartment, she'd known that a myriad of different social interactions and activities were only a stone's throw away. There was always tons of stuff to do, places to go... innumerable ways to occupy her time, especially when she wanted to keep busy and avoid dwelling on something. Even after the sky had torn open and started spitting out an alien army.

It wasn't the being alone that she minded, it was the total isolation that had a hold on her. There probably wasn't a neighbor for miles, and if there was, Victor wasn't the neighborly type and had probably never even spoken to them. There was no internet—that she had access to; Victor had locked his laptop in his bedroom—and even if she _could_ get online, she was supposed to be pretending she was dead. That, and if SHIELD knew as much about her as Victor said, they'd probably find her through even the smallest message or comment on the internet, or even if she just went to places she used to frequent. Ayasha still wasn't sure if they were someone she wanted finding her. She had never had much faith or trust in government or government related organizations; recent events hadn't helped matters.

She felt very small just then, and slid down from the counter to crouch on the floor, tucking her knees under her chin and hugging her legs against her chest. One hand lowered to feel the bulge of the cellphone Victor had given her in her pocket. The clock in the kitchen had told her that he'd already been gone just a little over three hours. Ayasha found herself wanting to call him, just to hear his voice. But he had made it clear that the phone was only for an emergency. Her feeling lonely and isolated mostly likely did _not_ constitute an emergency.

"Why the fuck am I missing him so much?" she grumbled into her knees, glaring accusingly across the floor to the cabinets of the peninsular counter. She was very self aware, and knew that she was already very attached to the man. Part of it could be explained away by him saving her life. But the almost panicky need for him to return and be around made Ayasha uncomfortable. That and her growing, but no less intense, attraction to him. She didn't want to be one of those girls that fell madly in love with someone just because that person saved her life.

_'There's _no way_ I know Victor well enough to be _'in love'_ with him,'_ she told herself. _'I find him attractive in an odd way, that's all. Would have found him that way no matter _how_ we met.'_ Ayasha knew herself well enough to at least be sure of that. But that was also the problem. The initial attraction mixed with the feelings of protection and safety from him saving her life—and continuing to go out of his way to protect her—were fostering all kinds of strange things in her head, and she was sure that most of them could be dismissed as distorted gratitude on her part.

_ 'I'm just gratef—'_ She had to stop mid-thought; she wasn't going to lie to herself. She _wasn't just_ grateful to Victor. It had been very clear that whoever had kidnapped her would try to get her back, and obviously had the resources to do so. On her own, Ayasha knew that her escape would have been short lived. She knew how to disappear into a crowd, and go unnoticed in plain sight, as well as how to avoid people she didn't want to run into. But the game she was playing now was on a whole different level. SHIELD was involved!

Ayasha _needed_ Victor to protect her. However limited her freedom with him was, it was miles beyond what she would have had with the kidnappers. Thoughts of restraints and needles flashed in her head and she flinched, hugging herself tightly. Her helplessness and dependence on her host made her grit her teeth. She _hated_ needing someone! Needing someone made you infinitely vulnerable, and opened you up to all kinds of pain.

And being so attracted to him was making things much more complicated than they needed to be. She wasn't naive enough to think that everything about their relationship was all hunky-dory. She _knew_ these kinds of situations could fuck with a person's judgment, leading them to make all sorts of stupid decisions. Ayasha didn't want—no, she _refused—_to be that girl. Whatever the draw Victor had, any sort of relationship being born of this situation as bound to be unhealthy.

The overwhelming urge to get as far from the man and his house gripped her tight, and for a moment she almost started thinking about what she would need to make it to some sort of town on her own. But the memory of needles going into her skin over, and over, and _over_ again surged back to the front of her mind, and the urge faded. Ayasha wasn't stupid enough to deny the necessity of Victor's protection, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

"If he tries to kiss me again, I'm running away and locking myself in the bathroom," she declared quietly.

_'What? Like locking the door could really keep him out?'_

No matter how unwelcome and intrusive the the thought was, it was still right. For the first time, Ayasha felt a tingle of fear about Victor. If he wanted to, he could easily overpower her and do whatever he pleased. No matter how hard she might fight, there was no way she'd be able to make him stop if he didn't want to. Her mutation magnifying his didn't help either. The fear grew to a cold shiver that rolled down her spine and made the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end.

But looking back, Ayasha saw no reason to think that he wouldn't stop if she asked. Granted, she'd never actually _told_ him to stop any of the times he forced her to be close to him, and that force had always seemed more like his—strange and as warped as his sense of humor and way of thinking could sometimes be—way of _asking_. It was like he didn't know _how_ to ask her to sit close to him. It didn't excuse it, but it offered a bit of explanation.

In fact, he didn't seem to know how to do a lot of things usually related with emotions and feelings. His grabbing her and pulling her close also seemed to be the only way he knew how to offer her any sort of comfort, like when she woke from a nightmare or the memories of her captivity got the better of her. And she had to admit that the tight embrace made things better. Nothing could hurt her when his big arms were wrapped around her.

It was awkward, and he never asked for her consent, but it just didn't _feel_ like the kind of violation it could have been. She had known men—and some women—who forced physical contact on people in trying to coerce something from a person or exert their dominance over them; Ayasha had experienced it herself. While Victor _definitely_ made himself the dominant one in every situation, his odd comforting technique never felt coercive or demanding. It just felt like... like he enjoyed having her close.

It was never really chaste, certainly, but it wasn't outright sexual either. He didn't seem to expect anything of her when she allowed him to pull her close, and had never taken it as any sort of permission. But Ayasha had always known the man was dangerous—the certainty of it seemed to ooze from his every pore—and she didn't know anywhere _near_ enough about him to say for certain that he'd never assault her. Even men perceived as the kindest, gentlest people in the world could turn out to be abusers.

That, and his possessiveness of her was still more than a little unsettling. Fear was a good thing; it was important information. It came from base animal instinct, and could perceive things that the normal human mind couldn't. Where men were concerned, Ayasha had learned never to doubt that little voice in the back of her head. It was usually right.

She wouldn't allow herself to become infatuated with Victor, a man she hardly knew, just because he had saved her life. Her trauma wouldn't decide things for her any more than it already had.

000

The text message buzzed in Victor's pocket when he pulled into his driveway. He retrieved the phone after he had parked in the barn, and pulled the heavy sliding door closed again. The white-blue light from the screen threw his hard features into heavy contrast, exaggerating the fang-baring scowl and furrowing of his brows.

_location compromised_

_ urs still secure_

_ on the move_

_ will contact when safe_

Great. Fucking great. Victor slammed his fist into the wall, feeling his knuckles shatter and reform. Circuit had fucked up somewhere, and tipped god-knows-who off to what she'd been doing. Now she was on the run, and she'd better _keep_ running if she'd left anything to do with him or the frail for people to find. She _claimed_ that his location was secure, but relying on the assurances and claims of others was _not_ how Victor had survived with his freedom for so long. He hadn't wanted to move the frail just yet, but staying put was no longer an option. He pulled up another number.

_moving out._

_ crossing the border._

_ get to U.P. rendezvous_

When the message had sent, he crushed the phone in his hand with the same ease a child would use to snap balsa wood. He transferred all the perishable goods to the large insulated trunk in the back of the SUV, making room for Ayasha in the front seat. His long legs carried him across the yard to his front door quickly, and when he unlocked and burst through the door he heard the frail squeak, looking over to see her pop up from behind the kitchen counter.

"Gather yer shit," he growled, slamming the door behind him and striding towards the hallway. "We're leaving."

A million questions fought for purchase on Ayasha's tongue, her mouth falling open and brows rising. But all she could manage was a dry, confused, "leaving?" But Victor was already down the hallway, unlocking doors and making all kinds of noise.

Ayasha skipped around the counter and hurried after him. Rounding the corner into the hallway, a duffel bag caught her in the face, obscuring her vision. "Pack. _Now_," Victor growled, the tone so low and guttural that his voice hardly seemed human. It left absolutely _no_ room for argument or questions. It sent her running into the bathroom and scooping all her toiletries into the bag. In went every item of clothing except for what she was wearing, and the jacket by the door. Without thinking she threw in the books she had been reading, and ran back into the bathroom for the first aid-kit.

She was filling an empty plastic jug with water when Victor came back in, two much larger duffel bags—both bulging with god-knows-what—slung over his shoulder. He shut all the vents on the wood stove before striding over and grabbing Ayasha tightly by the elbow. She struggled to zip up her bag as he dragged her over to the door, pushing her towards her jacket and boots. Glad that they were easy to slip on, she complied with the wordless command. The moment she had both arms through her jacket sleeves he was pulling her with him through the door and across the yard.

There was no time to get a look at the vehicle they were climbing into, Victor half lifting Ayasha into the passenger front seat and tossing her bag at her feet. "Buckle," was all he said before he slammed the door. In her rush to comply again, she missed him vaulting effortlessly over the hood of the SUV, looking up only when he was opening the door. Everything blurred together as he tore out of the barn and down the driveway. Ayasha paid no attention to the landscape rushing past, the adrenaline only starting to wane when they left the dirt road behind and the tires hit pavement.

"Slow the fuck down, frail," Victor muttered, shattering the tense quiet. "Keep pantin' like that and you'll end up hyperventilating..." Her breathing had been fast and shallow since they stepped outside. He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye as she forced herself to take a long, slow, deep breath. Her knuckles had gone pale, her hands balled into fists in her lap. Victor let out a grumbling sigh. He could tell that his tension was bleeding over to her, pushing her towards the edge of another panic attack. He sure as hell didn't wanna deal with one of those in the goddamned car.

"Sorry," Ayasha mumbled. She kicked off her boots and crossed her legs, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. Her heart was still pounding madly and it felt like her ribcage had shrunk a few sizes. Moving out like this could only mean that _they_ had found her and were coming to retake her. The thought of that brought a frothing mix of rage and fear to the forefront of her mind. "I'm _not_ going back to them," she said, the growl of her voice surprising her. "They can go fuck themselves with the biggest, spiniest cactus they can find."

Victor smirked; it was good to smell and hear the girl's fire and steel so strongly. But she was still very close to freaking out, so he offered grudgingly, "might be nothin', frail." He felt her eyes snap up to look at him. "My... source got made an' had t' cut 'n' run. Safer if I do the same with you."

"So they... they _aren't_ coming for me?"

"Didn't say that. They _are_ comin' for ya, no doubt. But they still probably don't have the faintest idea where you are." He turned and locked eyes with her. "An' it don't matter if they ever do."

The very clear _'you're mine'_ hung between them like a neon sign and Ayasha quickly looked away. All those things she'd told herself and decided in the kitchen when Victor had been gone seemed very far away now, and her heart started racing again. Maybe it was because she thought she could almost _smell_ the possessiveness radiating from him... Whatever it was, there was certainly a different note to the wild musk of his scent that suddenly seemed to be filling the cab. She looked stubbornly out the window to hide the blush threatening her cheeks.

The possessiveness should disgust her. Her ancestry aside, the idea of being possessed by another person had always seemed abhorrent to Ayasha. _Belonging_ to someone wasn't a prospect that should make her blush and fidget! But under her dredged up attempt at outrage, she was starting to understand. It wasn't the possessiveness itself that was impacting her, but the force behind it. It was that feral protective drive, glimpsed only if she looked closely, and even then, only for a few moments. Victor was giving up his own comfort without a second thought, all for her safety. Her immense gratitude made it difficult to think about his motivations.

Only one person outside her family had ever been so fiercely protective of her and her well being, and she had shared a deep and powerful connection to that person. Sure, she had a connection to Victor; she wasn't going to deny that. But she'd be damned before she let herself fall into the trap of liking someone—an incredibly dangerous and deadly someone—she barely fucking knew just because they were taking care of her! She recognized that she was associating protectiveness with somewhat romantic feelings of attachment.

That wasn't how good relationships were supposed to start. They started because you both liked things about the other and had some things in common! Ayasha had _no idea_ what she and Victor could possibly have in common, and they had only known each other for a few weeks! _'I have to be forcing the connection. There's no other explanation. I'm trying to force the small connection we _do_ have into something more, so that it's easier to be around a scary stranger.'_ She took another slow, deep breath, and then another, and another. Her heart was still racing, and the combined pressure of the situation combined with whatever her relationship with Victor was would easily fast track her to panic.

With a heavy exhale, she closed her eyes, and slouched, head falling back against the headrest. She could feel herself starting to disassociate, separating herself from her feelings. She was dimly aware of wondering why she hadn't done it sooner. It had been a long time since she'd been so overwhelmed that she'd had to 'go empty'. She wasn't getting lost in herself; she was still aware of everything that was going on, and could function without issue. She simply kept herself at a distance from her feelings. Another heavy exhale, and she glanced over at Victor.

Tension was coming off him in waves, one of his claws tapping the steering wheel. Talking to him now would either get her nothing or a very large, very pissed off man. She didn't deserve to be on the other end of that, and wasn't going to stir that pot. She sighed, relaxing her body and letting her hands fall into her lap. She closed her eyes, and began a series of slow, meditative breathing. Sleep would be the best way to pass the time. She had no idea how long the trip would be, or where they were going, and was too empty to really care. It took a while, but eventually, the hum and vibration of the the road lulled her into a half doze.

000

It was going to be a very long trip. Going from Mistissini, Canada to a place on the edge of the Ottawa National forest could take between eighteen and twenty-three hours. He was planning to take the longer route, sticking to back roads as much as possible. There were going to be stops for gas, and at least one night at a hotel. They could eat some of the food he had in the trunk. It was mostly non-perishable and dry goods, so stopping for anything other than bathrooms and gas would be unnecessary.

They continued in silence, the world rushing by. The wilderness, though no less beautiful, held no wonder for her now. There had been stability at the cabin. Safety, routine, and a somewhat comfortable atmosphere. It had been like living in a bubble. The entire world could go mad and they probably wouldn't have noticed. When she thought about it, that was exactly what happened. Ayasha had never thought that she'd miss such total isolation. She'd never thought a lot of things would happen. But they had, and there was no going back.

And even if she could go back to her old life, she wouldn't be the same person. She shied away from the word 'damaged', mostly because it felt too accurate. She would never be the same Ayasha again. That made her a little sad; she had worked so hard to unlearn the things that society had taught her to hate about herself, and equally hard to learn to love her mind and heart. Now she was a different Ayasha; she might have to start all over again. She stretched her legs out in front of her, folding her hands in her lap. Victor was still radiating tension, and she had no wish to stir that pot.

Deciding that sleep was the best option, Ayasha began a series of slow, meditative breaths, continuing her disassociation from her emotions. It took her a while, forcing her body and mind to relax. But eventually, the hum and vibration of the road lulled her into a doze. Remaining like that for long enough allowed her to fall asleep.

Every now and then, Victor would glance over at her. Her head was starting to slump to the side, exposing the length of her neck. The warm, gold-tinged terra-cotta skin looked very inviting. Hell, all of her looked inviting. She smelled good too, even under all that tension and anxiety; that warm mix of sweet and spice that made him want to bury his nose in her hair. He wanted to do a lot more than that, but it was the thing about the hair that stuck out for him.

Women's scents were always softer, somehow, probably something to do with hormones. He'd always liked the way they smelled, especially when that smell was coated in terror and blood. He'd had plenty of willing women, but none of it quite compared to the way a frail's cunt would flutter in clench as she screamed, fighting him with all her strength. He loved the way their entire bodies spasmed when he killed them, fucking them until the last of their life drained from their bodies. All his frails ended up that way. He called them 'his' and wouldn't let anyone else touched them. But he always got bored with them, always killed them.

But every time he tried to imagine doing it to this one, every time he tried to picture Ayasha's face as he tore out her throat, the image was... Fuzzy. Even when he could see it clearly, it failed to bring the usual surge of anticipation and swelling of his cock. That in itself was deeply unsettling. Most of him imagining her involved her alive and whole, clawing the sheets as he fucked her until she couldn't stand.

He didn't know why he wasn't angry at her. Because he had taken her in, he'd exposed himself, made enemies. He didn't care much about making enemies, but he'd been forcefully uprooted to protect a frail he could have just as easily left for dead or fucked to death himself. But he hadn't. The cat in him was too curious for its own good, and he was too stubborn to give up now that he'd begun. If it got boring, he'd kill the frail and find better things to do.

000

It was hours later that Ayasha awoke with a growling stomach and a full bladder. It was starting to get dark, and the trees were beginning to thin. Victor wasn't planning on stopping to eat—they had plenty of food in the trunk—but they needed gas. The frail stretched beside him as he pulled into the truck stop, parking at the pump. "Bathroom?" When she nodded, he told her to wait. He got out and walked around to her side of the car, opening the door. He kept his hand on her lower back the whole way to the building, the woman on the way out holding the door for them.

Ayasha gave a polite smile and "thank you", moving towards the bathroom once they were inside.

Victor grabbed her wrist and she stopped, turning to look at him. "Don't take all night," he muttered, letting go. She tried to read his face, but it was an inscrutable as always. She _wanted_ to roll her eyes at what she assumed was worry, but she knew he was right. She hurried to the bathroom, a one room affair that was clean but smelled somewhat musty. She did her business and washed her hands. Victor was waiting right outside the door for her, and put an arm around her as he lead her outside. The parking lot was empty now, but Victor still kept an eye out. "Pump the gas. Unleaded."

While Ayasha filled the tank, he opened the trunk and rummaged through the food cooler. He pulled out a bag of jerkey and ripped it open. Chewing, he closed the back of the car and came back around. He handed the bag to her and she took a handful. They watched the numbers run in silence, Ayasha looking up at Victor. She still couldn't read his face, and she chewed on her bottom lip. She felt bad; he was going through all of this because of her. He'd left his home, and was now driving god-knows-where just to keep her safe. He wasn't family, he hadn't known anything about her...

And yet he'd proclaimed her 'his' and committed to protecting her. And she still didn't know why. He wasn't a friendly man, he surely couldn't have done it out of the goodness of his heart. But what selfish reason could he have? If he'd wanted to rape her he would have done it by now, right? He'd made his _interest_ in her clear, but wanting to fuck someone wasn't enough to uproot your whole life! She stopped chewing on her lip before she made it bleed, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket.

The solid thump of the tank reaching capacity brought her back to reality. A hand on her arm and he lead her back around the passenger side. He was reaching to open the door for her when blood and brain matter sprayed her face, shards of bone slicing across her cheek. Victor went down with a crash, and Ayasha stared. There was nothing left of his face but a bloody hole. She hadn't even heard a shot...

"We have to go!"

A woman was grabbing Ayasha's hand, tugging her away. She stumbled, turning to look. A high pitched whine was beginning in the back of her head, and her vision was starting to go fuzzy at the edges. Part of her was amazed she recognized the woman so quickly. Natasha Romanoff; she'd been seen with the Avengers during the Battle of New York, and her face had been all over the news when Victor let her search after the SHIELD/Hydra blow up in Washington.

There was a gun in her hand.

The high pitched whine spiked, and all Ayasha could hear beneath it was the pounding of her heart. She could smell blood—Victor's blood—sharp and full of iron. Pain flared in her fingertips and in her upper jaw. She could smell Natasha too; sweet and feminine under the smell of gunsmoke and something sharp and electric.

She'd shot Victor.

Ayasha snarled, baring new fangs and bloody gums. She screamed, lashing out with claws and slicing across Natasha's face. Natasha released the younger girl and jerked back, confusion in her scent. Ayasha was backing up, putting herself between Victor and Natasha. The edges of her vision were tinged red now, blood pounding in her ears.

"I won't hurt y—"

"Get Away!" Ayasha kept backing up. "You _Fucking_ Shot Him! GET AWAY!"

Reality was leaking in, a lump rising in her throat and tears burning her eyes, panic beginning. The second Natasha was moving away, Ayasha was on her knees in front of Victor, sobs threatening to choke her. All she knew was that they had to get away, that she couldn't leave him. He could heal this, right? Right?

Pulling open the door to the back seat, she was dimly aware of her fingertips bleeding where claws had burst from her nail beds. She didn't know how she got Victor into the backseat, only that something sharp happened in her back and kept hurting. She tried not to vomit when she had to search his pockets for the keys, and hurried around the the driver's seat. Pulling it further up, she didn't even think to buckle as she peeled out of the parking lot and back onto the road. She hoped she was going in the right direction.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been driving when she found the old driveway. It had probably once lead to a house, but had since been over taken by nature. Tears were making it hard for her to see, and she drove along the rough path, branches scraping the sides of the SUV, until she couldn't see the road any more. Cutting the engine and lights, she slumped in her seat, trembling and staring wide-eyed into the dark.

It took her a while to realize that she was praying. Not to anyone or anything, but just _praying_ that Victor's healing factor was enough to save him. She could smell his blood so clearly, filling the cabin with the stink; she thought she would be sick. Anger rolled into the mix of fear and panic, and she screamed, the sound sounding strange and alien to her. She lost more time sitting there in the dark. The logical part of her knew that there was nothing that she could have done to protect Victor. But logic wasn't exactly her strong point right now.

What if he couldn't heal? What if he was dead and she was _alone_?

The thought made her angry. She shouldn't be so scared of being alone! She should be able to take care of herself. Another snarl, and she slammed her fist into the door beside her.

"Quit tryin' t' break shit."

Ayasha wrenched her neck turning around so quickly. Victor was sitting up in the backseat, face covered in blood but intact and whole. She half fell into the backseat, flinging her arms around him and holding on tightly. Her first thought had been to kiss him, but she'd stopped herself and instead buried her face in his shoulder.

Victor blinked, glancing over at her. She smelled different. She smelled... _feral._ He peeled her off of him and set her beside him, holding her by the shoulders as he scrutinized her face. A fang had snagged her bottom lip and stuck out, and he quickly raised her hands. Her fingernails had been ripped away when claws grew out from beneath. His blood was on her hands as well, but there was a third donor, familiar from many years ago... Russian.

There was a sharp flare of pride; his frail had drawn the blood of the infamous Black Widow. But Ayasha's wounds weren't closing, still bleeding slowly. She'd mimicked part of his mutation, but didn't seem to be able to do both aspects at once. His blood was on her face, too; brain matter and cuts from flying shards of bone. When he met her eyes, big and wet with tears, she spoke.

"Do you have any idea how fucking _heavy_ you are?" she muttered, a relieved smile curving her lips.

He smirked back. "Might have a vague idea." He had to admit that he was genuinely impressed that she had gotten the dead weight of his body into the truck all onto her own. "C'mon." He opened the door and lead her around to the back. She stood silently beside him as he rumaged through the bags and produced a jug of water and a towel. He wet the towel and started cleaning the blood off Ayasha's face and hands. He removed his coat and shirt and took her spatter jacket. He cleaned his own face and put on a clean shirt before bringing her back around to the side of the truck, piling her into the front seat and buckling her in.

A few more wipes with the towel cleared most of the blood and brain matter from the side of the vehicle. Tossing the towel into the trees, and got in and backed out onto the road. Neither of them said anything as they started driving again. Ayasha was curled into a little ball, occasionally examining her new claws and exploring her new fangs with her tongue. The silence continued, but Victor's mind was far from quiet.

She'd _stayed_.

The frail had been given a chance to leave him, a chance to be taken away by someone who actually stood a decent chance of _keeping_ her away, who had the resources and the skills to protect Ayasha from him. She'd had that chance, and she hadn't taken it. Hell, she'd _fought_ to stay with him, protected him. Violently. Loyalty like that was alien to Victor. He knew she was too aware of herself to fall prey to some Stockholm bullshit. Was she really just gratitude? Saving her life meant gratitude, but it didn't mean she'd want to stay with him for the rest of her life. She should be terrified of him, jumping at any chance to get away.

But she'd _stayed_.

000

They didn't stop until the sun was rising the next morning, pulling up to a motel that Victor had picked ahead of time. He could pay cash, get a clean room, and none of the staff would ask many questions. His and Ayasha's bags hung over one shoulder, they went into the lobby. He bought a room from a clean but tired looking man, who offered them muffins from the tiny breakfast buffet, and Victor grabbed a few on their way out, pressing a blueberry one into Ayasha's hands.

She didn't really taste it, but she ate anyway, following him outside and down the sidewalk to their room. They were close to the truck, and the room didn't smell too bad when they entered. A little musty, but not bad. Ayasha was so drained all she had the energy to do was kick off her shoes and take off her bra under her shirt. While Victor was locking the door and drawing the blinds, she stole a pillow and blanket and headed for the couch. A hand on her shoulder brought her to a halt.

"Where d'ya think yer going?" Victor said.

Ayasha looked at him with heavy eyes and pointed at the couch. "Sleep."

"Bed." She was too tired to argue with the order, or be bashful about sharing the king-sized bed. She crawled in and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She heard Victor moving around, and when she looked over, he had changed into a pair of clean sweatpants and nothing else. He was plugging in what she assumed was a burner phone when she spoke.

"Have you always been so hard to kill?" she asked, eyes lingering on his face, trying not to remember the bloody mess it had been hours ago.

He shrugged. "For the most part."

A million different questions rose in her mind, but she was too tired to ask any of them. Instead she went back to staring at the ceiling. "Seems like immortality would suck some major balls," she muttered. She heard Victor snort and felt the bed dip as he got in. She was only slightly flustered when he put an arm around her and dragged her over, her back against his chest. She had to admit it felt nice. Her hand found the inside of his wrist and pressed in until she felt his pulse, strong and rhythmic under her fingers. He was alive. Out of nowhere, she asked, "why are you holding me?"

Victor growled and kept his face in her hair. "Cause I don't feel like fuckin' right now."

She was getting so tired that the comment didn't even phase her, and she closed her eyes. "No energy for shit like that," she replied. She wasn't equipped to deal with their strange and complicated budding... was relationship the word? He'd made is interest in her clear more than once, and she was attracted to him as well. But this was not exactly the best point in her life for a casual affair. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes.

Neither of them fell asleep right away. Victor knew he _would_ sleep; healing something big like that either left him ravenous or exhausted. This one seemed to be the latter. Soon both of their breathing evened out and slowed, drifting into darkness.

000

Ayasha's dreams didn't start badly. She dreamed for a great while that she and her grandmother had opened a frozen yogurt shop in Hawaii, and that most of their customers were tropical birds and dolphins.

But it didn't last. They didn't touch on Victor's mutilated and ruined face. Instead, she was back in the room with the needles. No, not the same room. The voices were the same, there were just more of them. And she was sitting up this time, mobile on her knees with her arms spread to either side. Wires had been clamped to her fingertips and temples, glowing red where they touched skin. Her body buzzed with energy, but she couldn't move. She couldn't look up either, and could only see the wires extending off into darkness where some kind of machinery whirred and hummed.

She heard the voices say her name, and something else that was very familiar, but she couldn't hear it. Her vision blurred and shifted, and she realized that the wires weren't clamped to her fingers. Instead, they were _tubes_ that fed _into her body_. She could feel something coming through them, feel it entering her arms and her brain. Her head throbbed, and fear and horror began to roll off her in the waking world.

It quickly filled the room, beginning to stir Victor from sleep. Ayasha began to thrash, and then to claw at her temples, trying to get the tubes out. The scent of her blood brought him wide awake. He grabbed the crying frail by her wrists and shook her until she was awake. She'd gashed both sides of her head and blood was pouring down her face and into her eyes. She blinked up at him through the blood.

"They—they were in my head!" She was struggling weakly against his hold, tears running down her cheeks. "Tubes and machines—I couldn't—!" Victor held her still, and slowly, the tears abated, the scent of fear and horror starting to shift to a cold, hard rage.

Victor let go of her wrists and let her sit up. He left the bed and turned on the light. She was a bloody mess. "Bathroom." Ayasha was already headed in that direction, and she swore loudly when she saw herself in the mirror. There were gashes on either side of her head, and, as head wounds were wont to do, they bled heavily. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her head, pressing it to her temples. She was dripping blood from her jaw and neck, and retreated to the bathtub.

That was where Victor found her, calmly pressing the snow white towel to her bleeding head, looking more annoyed than scared. He set the first aid kit down on the closed toilet seat, and sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the small woman. A million different things he could say ran through his head, but he remained silent. Frails weren't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to scream and cry and cower. At least that was what he was used to. He wasn't used to fire and steel and practicality.

She lifted her eyes to him. "This is some Grade A fucking _bullshit_," she muttered.

He snorted, and pulled the towel back from her right temple, and then her left. The left side wasn't so bad and would do fine with butterfly strips, but two of the gashes on the right side were deep enough to need stitches. When she saw him pulling out the curved needle and thread she swore loudly in french. She remained silent as he cleaned and disinfected her wounds, placing the butterfly strips to keep the more shallow cuts closed. Without instruction she bit down on the bloody towel when he threaded the needle.

He was surprisingly gentle as he worked, and she did her best to stay still. The bleeding had slowed by the time he was finished, and the once pristine towel was now stained and smeared with red. Ayasha lifted a hand to touch the stitches but Victor smacked it down. "You gotta remember," he held up her new claws before her eyes, "these are _weapons_. If you got 'em from me, they'll shred flesh like tissue paper. Yer not healing, so I'm guessing you can't mimic the whole thing at once."

She flexed her claws, fascinated. The first thing that occurred to her was, "these would make masturbating really hard."

Victor smirked and raised a brow. "You plannin' on doing a lotta that?"

Despite everything, there was a twitch of a smile at the edge of her mouth. "Nah. Running for my life and dragging giants into trucks is taking up too much of my time."

The frail kept surprising him. Hours ago, she'd watched him get his brains blown out. Moments ago she'd awoken from a nightmare tearing at her own flesh. Now she was cracking jokes. Was this what frails were like? He'd never kept one around long enough to really found out. He loved the smell of a frail's terror and panic, but he found Ayasha's relaxation and contentment were just as pleasant.

Victor _liked_ the way she was around him. She didn't flinch when he was near her or when he touched her. She smiled when he came into a room, and laughed at some of his worst comments. She was still a little wary of him, but she trusted him enough to stand in her blind spot and wasn't afraid. And she _knew_ how dangerous he was. A man didn't survive as long as he did without being dangerous. And yet she wasn't afraid of him, not really. He knew that should bother him, a lot. But... it didn't. He didn't know how he felt about it at all really, other than knowing that he didn't _hate_ it.

She stood and slid past him to look at her stitches in the mirror. The furrowing of her brows pulled at them and made her swear. "Fuck..." She braced her hands on the counter and hug her head. This was too much. Too much was happening at once. She just wanted to sleep... The collar of her shirt was sticking to her skin as the blood on it dried, and she wandered back out into the room to find her bag. It was next to Victor's and she retrieved a clean t-shirt. She kept her back to Victor as she changed, and he watched her lay a clean towel across her pillow before she lay down.

A frown bared a fang as he stared. The stink of terror and rage still clung to the frail and the room, even though she wasn't put out as much of them now. He would have made her take a shower, but the wounds had to heal a little bit before she did that. Even though the emotions had mostly abated, they still bubbled just beneath the surface.

He had a pretty good idea of what was going through her head. Even though she'd escaped captivity, she hadn't really escaped the people that had done it. They still had a hold on her. Her PTSD was becoming more and more apparent, and she knew it. She hated them all the more because even though she had her freedom, she couldn't shake them off, couldn't get them out of her head. She was probably also coming to the conclusion that they had killed her grandmother. He knew it helped some people to talk about it, but the only things that had ever helped _him_ deal with his issues were killing and fucking, sometimes at the same time.

Sitting back down on his side of the bed, he watched her back for a long time. He was more used to _causing_ PTSD than helping with it. The frail was in a dangerous place, teetering on the edge of losing herself to rage or fear. And the only thing he could think of to help her was distraction. Get her mind so focused on something else that she had time to breathe and adjust. And the scents of terror and rage were painfully familiar for him, and were very attached to things he'd rather not remember.

Distraction it was, then.


	5. Distraction

___**A/N**__**: So this chapter is a few pages shorter than usual but I really wanted to get it out to you guys! SMUT AHEAD! Lots. Like I feel exhausted and I'm not even the one having all the rough mutant sex. Phew! But yeah, lotsa smut in this chapter, with a lil plot thrown in just for the hell of it. Also, the sex is VERY rough. Victor is not a gentle man and if rough sex isn't your thing... why are you reading a story about Victor Creed? **_

FIVE:

Grabbing her shoulder, he tugged her onto her back. Her eyes met his, but before she could speak he'd smashed his mouth over hers, devouring her sound of surprise. Her hands grabbed his shoulders as he climbed over her, body tense. Victor broke the kiss to move down the column of her throat, rasping his fangs along her neck.

Her skin prickled and a tremor ran down her spine; it felt good. The heat of his breath on her throat and of his body over hers... He didn't object when her hands slid around his back, palms pressing flat to the skin. The bulk of him shielded her, and suddenly the rest of the world had never been more far away. She tilted her head to the side and bared more of her neck to him. His fangs broke skin, drawing blood.

Shuddering, she arched up against him. A growling purr rumbled deep in his chest, and he bit a little harder. He pressed a knee between her legs and she spread them, hooking one over his hip when he settled between them. She'd never wanted anyone there more. He was so wide it almost hurt her hips to cradle him. He dragged a hand up her thigh, squeezing as he sucked at the wound. Her tiny hands dragged down his back, claws drawing red lines in their wake that closed over in seconds.

He'd never thought that the blood of a willing frail would taste so sweet. Instead of terror, she tasted of arousal and excitement. And the noise she made when he dragged his tongue over the bite made his cock twitch. He was _used_ to terror, fucking loved it. This was something else entirely. She tugged on his shoulders, trying to press him down, bring him closer to her. Instead he pulled away, hovering above her. His free hand sliced down the front of her shirt, never once touching her skin. When he pulled it open her first reaction was to press up into the skin-to-skin contact.

Heat radiated from Victor like a furnace, and Ayasha dragged her hands around to touch his chest. He allowed it, growling quietly as she traced her small clawed hands over him. She's slow, she's doing something, and for a moment he wasn't sure what. Then Ayasha reached up, pressing gentle fingers to his neck, finding his pulse, closing her eyes when she felt it. The frail was making sure he was alive.

For a moment, their eyes met, very different things happening in their heads. Ayasha had always thought Victor had beautiful eyes—so bright blue and stormy like the ocean. For a moment all she could remember was how there wasn't a trace of them left in the bloody mess the bullet had made. She reached up, praying that he didn't see that her hand was shaking. She touched his face so gently, drawing her fingertips down his brow, between his eyes, down his jaw, stubble tickling her fingers.

He let her, just hovering above her, watching. Her hands were warm and soft, and she fucking _caressed_ him. She was touching him so gently... No one was gentle with him. He'd survived and outlived nearly everyone he knew, and this little frail was touching him like he was made of glass. Something inside him twisted and he yanked her hands away, pinning them above her head with one of his own.

His kiss was cruel. He bit her lips and she bled, but Ayasha kissed back. Her own little fangs cut his lips and she sucked, tasting before the cuts closed over. He was alive. Victor was strong and hard and _alive. _ He kissed her so hard she could barely breathe, his tongue dominating hers. She pressed into him, arching her hips up into his erection, feeling him growl and rock into her. It was a huge mistake and she was running headlong into it. She wanted him so badly, to feel his body in every way she could, to _know_ that he was still there.

When Victor broke the kiss he rose up, looking down, staring at his prize. She'd been so skinny and sickly in the beginning, and her hip bones and ribs still showed too much. Her breasts were fuller now, hanging heavy on her chest, nipples like tiny pebbles in large, dark areolas. Lifting one in his hand, he squeezed. Soft and pliant, his fingers sank and pressed against the brown flesh, and she made the tiniest little noise as his claws scraped the underside. Dragging a claw up from the bottom, Victor pinched one of her nipples.

He had intended it to be a reprimand, a show of power, but instead of flinching, she mewled, biting her bottom lip. The sharp sensation sent a jolt of pleasure to her core, and she tried without success to swallow a moan when Victor did it a second time. "Aw, you like that, kitten?" It was a new name, and she squirmed, squeezing her eyes shut. Victor could smell how wet she was getting, and he did it again. She cried out this time, squirming. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together, wanted him between them, friction, something! But he continued to deny her, sucking on her neck and playing with her tender nipples.

His scent was more clear to Ayasha than it had ever been, and a million times more complex. The wild musk was actually the smell of pine needles and earth after a rain storm, edged with something else... The best she could come up with was smoke. There was sweat and blood there, too. A little of his and some of her own. And the arousal... Ayasha could _smell_ how much he wanted her, how much having her pinned was turning him on. She realized he'd be able to smell the same of her and she whimpered.

Some of the bites on her breasts bled, and every time his fangs broke her skin—he didn't care enough to be careful—he expected her to start crying, to start trying to escape. He wouldn't be able to let her go and he wouldn't stop. All the comfort she got from him would vanish. She'd never feel safe around him again, never smile that stupid fucking smile or laugh at the awful things he said. He expected her to turn into every other frail, become boring and disposable.

But Ayasha just arched into him, pressing into every touch and bite. She whimpered and winced sometimes, but never told him to stop. She didn't _want _him to. Every little stab of pain pushed the nightmares further and further away. Every drop of blood Victor drew obscured the room with the needles and the image of his missing face. His claws raked her hip to shred her pants and underwear, and it _burned_. Her eyes watered but she didn't cry.

Victor crouched between her legs, ripping open and yanking away the fabric that had at one point been clothes. He covered the two shallow gashes across her hip with his mouth, lapping at the blood and feeling her breath hitch. The scent of her wetness was so strong now, and he spread her thighs and buried his face between them. Her hands fisted in his hair and her hips bucked. He had a much longer tongue than she'd thought, and he fucked her with it, nose nudging her swollen clit. She tasted sweet and salty and tart all at once, and he growled in satisfaction as he pulled back to stare, licking his lips.

She didn't shave, but kept everything trimmed and neat. He honestly couldn't have cared less, but for some reason it was perfect. She squirmed under his gaze, spread wide and _aching_. His claws dug into her legs and he held her there, just staring. His. All his. Slowly, he lowered his mouth again, and Ayasha grabbed fistfuls of the sheets so her claws didn't cut into him.

Her head dropped back and her hips jerked upwards. Normally, she would have given her partner some direction; what she liked, what she didn't... But Victor seemed to _know_. Fingertips massaged her outer labia while he drew circles and crosses on her clit with his tongue. He kept up like that, perfecting his rhythm as he took his cues from the way she was breathing and the way her thighs trembled. He worked slowly until she was just on the edge, thighs quivering and breathing rapid.

And he stopped. He put both hands on her thighs and stared up at her, licking his lips. The look of dismayed anger and confusion on her face was priceless, and he bit her thigh until he tasted blood. Continuing to surprise both Victor and herself, Ayasha's arousal didn't wane. She struggled to look down at him, gasping. "P-please." It was pathetic and she hated it, but it was all she could manage through ragged breaths and clenched teeth.

But he wasn't going to let her off that easy. He pressed his thumb against her swollen clit and did nothing else. "Please, _what_, kitten?" he rasped, sucking on her bleeding thigh.

He could have laughed at the look she was giving him. All her pride and self-consciousness came together and fought her. She couldn't! She wanted this so badly but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. "Victor!"

Flipping her onto her stomach, he spread her wide. His own pants were gone in a second and he let his heavy erection rest against her ass as he leaned over her. "You want _me_? Is that it?" Her surprise and fear was almost enough to make him start fucking her right there, whether she was ready or not. But he wanted her to _say_ it. To beg him for it. "Tell me what you want, frail, or it's going in your ass."

She wanted to yell at him, to rebuke how he was treating her. But part of her liked it. Part of her loved the domination and demands. Fresh wetness and throbbing arousal made her whimper. "Fuck, I just wanna cum," she breathed.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back to kiss, a hand sliding beneath her and plucking at her clit. He held her like that, her back arched and his fingers working between her legs. He stopped only once when she was on the edge of orgasm, just to prove who was in control. Then he sent her tumbling, heat bursting and roiling inside her, body trembling as she cried out against his mouth. He sucked her lip until it bled again, letting her drop back to the bed.

Through the fazing haze, Ayasha heard him spit into his hand, and felt him shift behind her. She rose up onto her hands and knees, heart pounding. It had been a long time since she'd had sex with a man, and Victor was _very_ big. But she wanted him so badly. _Needed_ him. Needed to know that he was still there, still alive. And she wanted to stop thinking, to stop making decisions for herself. For once in her life, she just wanted to be used. The broad head pressed against her entrance, the moment where he adjusted his angle seeming to last forever.

He thrust in without gentleness or hesitation, yanking her hips back and sheathing himself her to the hilt. Pain burst, bright and hot, between her legs, and she cried out, claws shredding the sheets. But the slick friction softened the sound, and it tapered into the moan. She tightened around him, wondering if he was giving her time to adjust or just enjoying the sensation of being inside her. There was some pain, but she didn't want to pull away. He was almost too big, but the stretch was _good_. Sharp and hot and everything she needed.

Victor growled, holding her hips so tightly that she knew they'd bruise. When he started moving, she almost thought she'd explode. It should have hurt, but she was so wet and wanted him so badly the friction made her sigh. He didn't start slowly, didn't give her time to adjust to the rhythm. The rest of the world dropped away completely as her eyes fell closed, body jolted with each thrust. Claws dragged down her back and she arched, crying out. The pain was good; it grounded her. It was a pain she allowed, not one forced upon her.

Every thrust pushed out a little gasping cry, heat twisting around her core. She struggled to stay up on her hands and knees, and eventually slumped forward, face hitting the pillow. Victor grabbed her by the neck and hauled her back up, slowing his pace. He squeezed hard enough that her cheeks tingled, but not hard enough to cut off air or blood flow.

Drawing slowly back, he thrust forward sharply, going as deep as her body would take him. He looked down, watching her ass jiggle with each thrust, and the way her cunt seemed to struggle to take him, choking on the girth. But she took all of him, every time, squeezing. With the way her cunt was starting to twitch, she was actually getting off on the penetration alone. He'd experienced every different emotion a frail could have through her cunt. Fear, rage, panic, the throes of death... But pleasure wasn't one he was overly familiar with.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he reached down, finding her clit. Never changing the pace of his thrusts, he started to play with her again. He wanted to make her come again, come for him while he fucked her. Ayasha made a strangled noise, overwhelmed by the pure sensation of it all. There was nothing beyond Victor. No SHIELD, no Hydra, no needles... There was just him; vital and hard and so viscerally _alive_. He was everything she needed, and the second orgasm hit harder than the first.

In the same moment, Victor leaned over her and sank his teeth deep into the meat of her shoulder. The pain of the bite should have shattered her enjoyment instantly. Instead, it cut across it, pain and pleasure folding in on one another again and again until they had become something else entirely. She came again, his teeth in her shoulder and blood running across her skin. His thrusts turned brutal and harsh, and he roared his release into her neck, squeezing her against him.

They both hung there for a moment before he dropped, falling beside her. He kept her close, slowly lapping at her bleeding shoulder while his cum leaked down her thighs. Ayasha didn't move except to lean into him, too spent to move. After a while, she felt him tugging at the towel under her head, and she let him have it. He cleaned between her legs and then pulled the blankets up over them both, his face in her hair. He smiled; there was nothing quite like the scent of a well fucked frail. It didn't take long for either of them to fall back asleep, slumber free of nightmares and discomfort.

000

The first thing Ayasha was aware of upon waking was the ache between her legs. She had shifted lay pressed to Victor's side, head on his chest and one leg over his. She groaned and pulled it back, squeezing her thighs together. A chuckled rumbled under her ear. " 'S a good thing yer not gonna be doing much walking today."

"Yer a goddamn _beast_," she mumbled reproachfully, turning her head to pout up at him.

"I didn't hear no complaints," he said smugly.

The smile was impossible to hide, despite the other various aches and pains in her body that she was staring to notice. "No, don't suppose you did." The genuine smile that flashed across her face was almost disarming. No one ever smiled at him like that and meant it. Especially after he'd fucked them the way he'd just fucked Ayasha. No one smiled at him after he'd made them bleed like he had. She stretched, and winced. "Oof. It was exactly what I needed." Even if sex had made things even more complicated, she didn't regret it in the slightest.

He snorted. "If all ya needed was a good fuck to knock that shit outta yer head, ya shoulda said so sooner." Victor was more than a little unsettled by how pleasant he found her burst of laughter, and by just how fucking happy she seemed. She started to sit up, and he tightened his hold around her waist. Just because he was unsettled didn't mean he wanted her to move. "Where the fuck you think yer goin'?" he growled.

"Bathroom," she whined, pulling again. He pinched her nipple before releasing her.

Resisting the urge to pinch him back, she shuffled off to the bathroom on unsteady legs. The woman she saw in the mirror looked to be in a much better mood, but a bit more worse for wear. Her right shoulder was swollen, scabbed, and bruised from Victor's bite, dried blood crusted around the wound and up the side of her neck. It wasn't the only mark on her neck and shoulders, just the largest and most angry looking. The scratches on her back and hip had scabbed over, too. The hand shaped bruises on her hips were the most spectacular.

The self-inflicted wounds were still red and tender, but they weren't bleeding any more. She poked at the stitches once or twice, but left them alone after that. When she came back into the main room, Victor was standing naked, peeking out from behind the curtain. She couldn't help but admire the view; he really did have an amazing ass. She could have stared at him all day, but he turned around and tossed her a new pair of pants. "Get dressed. Time to go."

Her old pants were already in the trash, and she sighed as she dressed. "You know that I only have like two pairs now, right?"

Victor shrugged, pulling on a thermal shirt and leather jacket over a pair of jeans. "I'll buy you more." He certainly hoped she wasn't going to be one of those women that complained about some popped buttons or torn underwear; that would spoil a good deal of the fun. But she just smiled and shook her head, putting on her socks and boots.

It was late afternoon outside, and Victor retrieved a large jar of honey roasted peanuts from the trunk when he was loading the bags. Setting it on Ayasha's lap he made sure she was situated before he got into the driver's seat. He turned on the classical music again, and they started driving, occasionally reaching over to grab a handful of nuts.

000

As the sky darkened, Ayasha decided that it was the stars she liked best about Canada, or wherever they were right now. She was so used to the light pollution from the city that she was completely in awe of the night sky. None of the constellations were recognizable, but they were so bright and clear and beautiful that she didn't care. She spent the rest of the drive with her face pressed against the window, looking up at the sky. Occasionally, she'd lift up her claws, turning them from side to side to examine them. She tested them on the hem of her shirt, slicing a clean line along the edge.

Her senses were noticeably more sensitive too. The smell of the hotel's sheets clung to both her and Victor under the scent of sweat and sex. She could even smell the hand soap she'd used. Glancing over at him, she thought about how awful the soap aisle at a supermarket, or the perfume section in a department store would be for him. But then, it was difficult to imagine him just going grocery shopping, let alone walking through the department stores at the mall. She kept her smile to herself as they turned onto a long, winding side road.

The ache between her legs was no longer as sharp, reduced to a dull throb every now and then if she moved the wrong way. Her bruises had deepened, turning a dark, redish black-purple. But she felt good; the same way a person felt after a session at the gym or any vigorous exercise. Tired and sore, but happy and satisfied. _Very_ satisfied, if she was honest with herself. And her worry about making things more complicated by sleeping with Victor seemed to have abated along with her darker thoughts about her captivity and captors. They weren't _gone_ by any means, but they weren't hurting her so much any more. She decided that it was good enough for now.

Eventually they turned off the road onto a gravel driveway lined with thickly growing trees and underbrush. This brought them to a wide gate in a tall, spiked fence. They pulled up to a pillar, and Victor rolled down the window to put in a code on an illuminated keypad. The gate whirred and opened, and they drove through. After more winding driveway and dark trees, they came upon a long, single story stone house with a wrap-around porch. It was too dark to see more than that, and Ayasha loaded down her arms with bags and other things to bring in, daring Victor to say a word.

The side door he unlocked opened into a large, kitchen/dining room combination. It smelled of wood and pine, Ayasha quickly set about unpacking all the food items. Soon the cupboards and fridge were stocked. "Gonna put my stuff in the bathroom." Victor grunted and tossed her the first aid kit. She found the bathroom beside a set of wooden steps that lead up to some kind of loft. The bathroom itself was large with dark blue tile on the floor and going halfway up the walls. The walls and ceiling were painted a dark, greenish grey, and the pale bathtub was massive, with two shower heads hanging above. She stored her toiletries and the first aid kit.

Victor met her outside by the steps with their bags. He pushed hers into her hands and followed her up to the loft. A proper Victor-sized bed was tucked in the corner, covered in heavy blankets and massive pillows. There was a dresser and book shelf against one wall, and a lamp on the beside table. Ayasha turned it on and set her bag on top of the dresser. She heard Victor's bag hit the floor and felt him advance to stand behind her, sliding a hand around her neck. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back against his chest.

His hand on her neck really shouldn't be relaxing, but her scent didn't lie. She really wasn't scared of him. Part of him was angry—she _should_ be scared, dammit—but the rest of him was too curious as to how long it would last to try disturbing it. He wouldn't hide anything from her; she'd see for herself the kind of man she was fucking. He shoved her forward onto the bed. "Go t' bed; yer dead on yer fuckin' feet."

At first, she wanted to protest, but the second she was on the bed she realized that she was tired all over again. She nodded silently, watching him until he vanished down the stairs. She crawled under the layers of blankets and buried her face in the pillows. A relationship of any kind in a situation like this was a bad idea, and she knew it. But she couldn't really bring herself to care, or to regret it. She turned off the lamp, and closed her eyes.

She wanted to protest, but the second she was on the bed she realized that she was tired all over again. She nodded silently, watching him until he vanished down the stairs. She crawled under the layers of blankets and buried her face in the pillows. A relationship of any kind in a situation like this was a bad idea, and she knew it. But she couldn't really bring herself to care, or to regret it. She turned off the lamp, and closed her eyes.

She was drifting on the edge of sleep when Victor returned. He crawled into the bed, shirtless and in sweats. Even half asleep, she felt his warmth, and scooted her self closer, still curled into a ball with her legs against her chest. He curled around her and pinched a nipple until she squirmed. He did it again, and she slowly uncurled. Claws retracted as far as they would go, he slipped a hand into her underwear and slid a fingertip through her folds. She sighed and adjusted to give him better access. He took his time, chewing on her neck and ear as he played with her, rubbing in slow circles.

Ayasha groaned and stretched out against him, reaching back to slide her fingers into his thick, shaggy hair. Victor wasn't in any hurry, and now that he'd had the frail all wet and excited, he found he preferred it to just going in dry. He _liked_ the way she responded, the way she tried to keep up with his pace, the way she reached for and grabbed onto him... She started panting, and her hand tightened on the back of his neck, thighs beginning to quiver. She came with a quiet mewling, back arched and mouth open, color bursting behind her eyes.

By the time he had his pants out of the way, Ayasha had already pulled hers down. He bit down on her neck as he positioned himself, keeping her on her on her side as pushed slowly inside. An odd purring noise rumbled in his chest at her back, and she whimpered only slightly. She was still sore, and pain lingered on the fringes of her mind. But it felt good. Even the throb when his hands gripped her bruised hips, and his mouth sucked on healing bites. He fucked her slowly, squeezing her breasts and thighs. He tweaked her nipples until she cried out, cunt clenching around him. With an approving growl in her ear, he continued the lazy pace.

It was the first time he'd fucked a frail in his own bed. All of them had been disposable pleasures, to be used until he was bored. They never shared his personal space, and his bed definitely qualified. But this one wasn't disposable, not in the same way. If she became a liability to him, he'd kill her without a second thought. But for now, he liked keeping her close, and it was easier to fuck her whenever he pleased when she was sharing his bed.

That, and he loved the smell of her; sweet and sharp spice mixed with her arousal and his own scent. It was a good smell. Fear began to stink after a while, and he sure as hell didn't want shit like that in his bed. Every time he thrust inside, she pushed back, her body so small but fitting against his so well. Her full breasts fit his hands and her pussy squeezed his cock so nicely.

"Fuck... Victor..."

Hearing her name on his lips, breathed like a prayer, sent a surge of power through him. Not only could he maker her submit, but he could drive everything else from her mind. There was no trace of her anxiety or worries, all because of him. It felt like a giant 'fuck you!' to whoever had hurt _his_ frail. All that was in her scent was sex and pleasure and _him_. His last few thrusts were harsh and brutal, and he yanked her head back to kiss her deeply. He somehow missed her small smile against his lips as they both slumped, Ayasha's chest heaving.

"Gotta clean up," she finally mumbled.

Victor bit her ear. "Five minutes, an' I come after ya." She shuffled down to the bathroom and cleaned up. Pregnancy wasn't a concern for her. A bad fever and infection as a child and proven to have long reached effects later on, when she had painful, spotty periods and infertile eggs. She'd never really thought of it as a _good_ thing, just sometimes mildly useful. Back in the loft, Victor wrapped himself around her like a cat, and she could have sworn he was purring as she drifted off, sore but content.

000

Ayasha awoke alone in the bed, sun streaming through the loft's circular window. She groaned and the pulled the covers up over her head in a weak protest. She was sore again, but not as much as before, and certainly not sore enough to regret anything. Victor was very good at providing a distraction from more unpleasant thoughts, and that distraction was a grounding point for her.

It was a place she could go where her trauma couldn't touch her, couldn't take away bits of who she was. If she was honest with herself, she'd thought before that _any_ kind of more intimate relationship with Victor would have been vastly unhealthy for her mental state. It was turning out to be just the opposite. She could give all control over to Victor, letting him decide everything for her. It was different from what she'd had before, but it was still good.

For a while, she just laid there, listening. Unfamiliar birds called outside, and there was movement downstairs. She could smell coffee and some kind of meat cooking, and her stomach growled. Victor was moving around downstairs, but suddenly the idea of going down and facing him like nothing had changed made her stomach drop. Stupid, self conscious thoughts swarmed her mind. Would he still treat her the same? Would he care as much about protecting her now that she'd slept with him, or had he only been pretending to get into her pants?

She wanted to scream into the pillow. She was a grown woman, an adult, dammit! If she wanted a strictly sexual relationship she was entitled to one. She didn't need old doubts she'd long put to rest rearing their head _now_ of all times. In whatever weird way, for whatever weird reason, Victor was good for her. Then his heavy footsteps were on the stairs, and the blankets were suddenly yanked away.

"If you wanna stay in bed all day, you should at least have a real reason."

She sat up and eyed him critically, making a face. "Getting fucked senseless by an over-endowed man twice my size, twice in one day, is a perfectly valid reason," she said primly. She could practically hear his ego inflating, and he grinned wolfishly at her. There was a spark of mirth in her eyes now. "Not gonna complain, though. And whatever you cooked smells delicious."

"Caught a deer this morning."

Ayasha faltered sitting up, and blinked at him, wide eyed. "You caught a dear? For breakfast?" He nodded. "That's... That's actually pretty impressive." She paused, making a face. "Please don't tell me I'm going to have to help you clean it this early in the morning." She knew how to dress down game, but hadn't done it in a very long time, and it had never been her favorite camping/hunting activity.

Victor rolled his eyes, and pointed down the stairs. Smoothing down her hair, she went past him down the steps, squeaking when he pinched her ass. In the kitchen, she mixed herself a cup of sugar with some strong black coffee, and picked out several chunks of meat from the frying pan. They were a bit more rare than she liked her beef, but venison was fine almost raw. It smelled of garlic and red pepper, and she outright moaned when she put the first piece in her mouth at the table. "Sweet baby Jesus, Victor!" She hadn't assumed that he couldn't cook, he _had_ cooked for them on more than one occasion. But this meat was another thing entirely.

"Yer tasting more," Victor said. "Yer sense of smell as much a part of tasting as your tongue. With a keener sense of smell, you can taste things better. You can taste the chemicals in all that processed shit though."

"It still tastes fuckin' amazing," she said around her third mouthful. He laughed at her, and served himself, a considerably larger portion, as well as slicing a few raw pieces from the slab of leg in the fridge. There was no small talk, Victor not big on it all, and Ayasha too enthralled with the food and coffee to bother with speech. As she getting her second cup of coffee, something occurred to her, and her expression was very different when she sat back down. "So... did you ever send off those blood samples you took?" Her tone was hesitant, and her scent was edged with nervousness, but her mood was high enough that a panic attack was unlikely.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he thought about what he should tell her. She didn't seem to be unstable, but with as fucked up as she was, that could change quickly. But if he lied, she might smell it. _That_ was a new issue he hadn't foreseen; not being able to lie to a frail. He'd never be able to tell her things just to keep her quiet, or deceive her about what he was doing. Another thing he wasn't sure how to deal with yet.

Might as well hear the truth then. "Yeah. Yer blood was full of nano-machines."

Whatever Ayasha had been expecting, it hadn't been that, and she choked on her coffee. "Wh-what?!" she coughed. "That's... Eeew! Fuck!" Her skin was crawling just contemplating the idea, and she shivered. "What the fuck for?"

"Dunno." He smelled her anger flare and saw her mouth open. "They were already breaking down by the time they got there," he snarled, baring his fangs. "I know a lotta shit; nano-tech ain't one of my specialties unless they're being used to kill people."

The anger faded instantly and she looked down sheepishly. "Sorry. I shouldn't get mad, it's just..." Her stomach churned, and she fought to keep her meal down. It was a violation of her body, and the thought that more of those little things were still swimming around inside her, right now... "Nothing to make you wanna shoot up with bleach like—" She broke off, eyes slowly widening. "Hydra!" She smacked her forehead with her palm. "You said they were shooting me full of something called 'hydronavyn'! How the fuck did I miss that?"

"Gettin' yer brain and body fucked with can make it hard to think sometimes."

There was an edge to his voice, something sharp that squashed any personal questions she might have had for him. Her anger instantly moved towards whoever had given Victor such experience, but she only voiced her thoughts on her own tormentors. "I'm gonna kill those Nazi fuckers!" A string of colorful French curses followed, and she set down her mug to resist the urge to throw it across the room. "So. How do we find out more? Get them out?"

"Lab would need live samples. You'd have to be there."

She tried not to let her anger snap at him again. "I take it that presents a problem," she grit out, jaw tight.

"Lab's in New York. They haven't found your body, so they'll be watching travel in and out of the state. Think you'll try to head home."

"I'm not that fucking stupid," she spat. She dragged her hand over her hair, pulling at a section and twisting it around her fingers. "There's a big MRD presence in New York, too. Lovely. Racists and homophobes are more than enough for anyone to deal with, but now I gotta deal with bigots that think all mutants are criminals. Yay." Her words dripped with hatred and venom.

"Yeah, you'd be pretty well disposed to meet all sorts," Victor agreed. "Black girl that likes dick _and_ pussy... and is a mutant."

"Don't forget the Native American," she said bitterly. She was right too.

Victor had lived long enough to see the genocide of hundred's of different people. Even if he didn't personally care, he could still see that Native Americans had been handed one of the shortest ends of the stick ever offered. The other half of her family tree hadn't faired any better. Not being straight as well as mutant, the girl was a bigot magnet. She was fucking pissed.

"It's the same shit from a different asshole; add it to the fucking pile. There's no fucking place for people like that in society."

Victor shrugged. "Eh. They're fun to kill. Imagine if a racist, homophobic, MRD agent got taken out by somebody like you." He laughed aloud and Ayasha couldn't help but laugh too.

She covered her mouth with her hand. "You're fucking _awful_," she snorted.

"Ya still laughed. And just cuz I'm awful don't mean I'm wrong." He was a little surprised. Most people, especially frails, usually balked when he talked so easily about killing, but this one had laughed. She was taking a moment to think about the meaning in his words, but her smile didn't fade. How could a normal person just laugh something like that off, and accept it? She continued to be a curiosity. He got up, moving to stand behind her.

Tilting her head to the side, he examined the bite on her left shoulder. There was no sign or scent of infection, but the flesh was still swollen where it wasn't scabbed or bruised. "You take the term 'love bites' entirely too literally," she murmured, enjoying the attention.

Victor leaned down and nipped the shell of her ear. "I felt how tight your pussy got when I bit ya, frail. Don't pretend like you didn't like it."

Her face burned and she actually struggled for words. She blushed because he was _right_. Being marked like that touched some ancient, primal part of her. She liked wearing his marks, and the idea of being 'his' didn't bother her the way it had when he'd first said it. That had never been something she wanted, to _belong_ to somebody. And the idea of it was still uncomfortable. But she didn't want to end whatever she had with Victor.

He smirked against her neck and stepped away, jerking his head for her to follow. "Bath." The promise of a long, hot soak was too much to resist, and she hurried after him. The water was already running when she joined him in the bathroom, and she closed the door behind her. She wasn't exactly shy when she undressed, but she still ended up with her back to Victor when she stripped. When she joined him in the tub, the steaming water was well above her waist, and she winced when it touched her tender vulva and the scratches on her hip.

But it felt so good on the rest of her that she didn't care. Heaving a sigh, she leaned against the wall of the tub, closing her eyes and just enjoying the warmth. Victor turned the water off when it had reached her shoulders. The quiet was as comfortable as the water, and Ayasha simply luxuriated in the simple pleasure of the hot bath. It had been so long that she couldn't remember the last time she was this relaxed and happy. The realization actually made her laugh.

"Do all frails laugh as much as you?" Victor wasn't sure if he liked or disliked how happy she was.

"Dunno about 'frails', but _I_ laugh a lot when I'm in a good mood," Ayasha mumbled.

"Getting fucked so hard you walk funny, and bitten till you bleed puts you in a good mood?" It had been a while since he'd met a frail like that.

"Apparently," she said, eyes closed. It was a fairly new experience for her, too. There was more to it, and Victor wanted to prod it out of her, but he honestly didn't care enough. As long as she wasn't stinking up his house and his bed with constant anxiety, he didn't particularly care what she was feeling. But he was rather surprised at how much he was enjoying himself. He was naked with a frail, and he wasn't fucking her, but he was still content. It was weird, but he knew he'd be fucking her again soon, so he contented himself with that.

After a while longer, Ayasha dragged a washcloth into the water. She started on her shoulder, gently massaging away left over dried blood. She resisted the urge to pick at her scabs, and did her best not to create the need for new ones with her claws. The other wounds were also subjected to gentle scrubbing, her vulva a much more delicate affair. When her body was clean, she ducked under the water. Being surrounded and encased in the warmth almost made her not want to surface. But she scrubbed her fingers over her scalp and came back up.

She lingered with her face half submerged, nose just above the surface. She couldn't bring herself to look over at Victor. She didn't _want_ to feel awkward, but it sat in her chest like a stone anyway. All she wanted was to forget everything that was happening. The world really just needed to fuck right off for a while... or give her something to punch. She clenched her hands into fists and instantly regretted it as her claws bit into her palms. "Merde." She sighed heavily, watching the blood trail out into the water in slow, winding tendrils. "This is fucking ridiculous."

Smelling the fresh blood, Victor yanked her over, lifting her hands out of the water. "Ya gotta stop doin' this shit," he muttered. His hands dwarfed hers, and she couldn't help but stare. The contrast in skin color was oddly beautiful. Her dark red-brown compared to his ruddy tan... Her claws were different too, smaller and darker than his. She couldn't retract them, but they seemed to be just as sharp. Part of her wanted to press her palm to his, to see just how much difference there was. But that felt absurdly intimate, and she pulled her hands back.

"I'd really love too," she muttered, staring at her hands. "How are you not constantly slicing yourself up?"

If he was honest with himself, Victor couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been the way he was. He knew he couldn't have _always_ been like this; no one was born with an active mutation. Even as fucked as his memories were, the earliest thing he could remember was being chained in the cellar like an animal, starved and beaten, fangs and claws ripped out one by one... He shook his head to toss off the memories. "Been like this a long time." There was a tightness in his voice, and for a moment he thought that she'd look at him with pity, and he swore he'd kill her if she did. But all that he saw in her eyes was a quiet anger.

But not at him. She was too fucking perceptive for her own good, and now she was pissed at whoever or whatever had caused the shadows she'd seen in his eyes for that split second. She knew that someone had hurt him, and instead of pitying him, she wanted to hurt whoever or whatever had done him harm. That was entirely new, and he was instantly uncomfortable and angry. "Stop cuttin' into yerself," he growled. He washed himself in silence, and Ayasha retreated to the other side of the tub. She wanted to help him, but he was angry now, and didn't seem like the sharing type.

She got up on the edge of the tub and opened her jar of shea butter. Feet dangling in the water, she massaged it through her hair in sections. She didn't need as much as her mother's had, but her fine hair was still brittle and kinky enough that her scalp's natural oils didn't always get down to the rest of her hair. The fuzz on the short side of her head was getting longer now, and she wondered if she should just shave it all off.

It would be the first time she'd had the style, and if she eventually had to go back to New York, it was best to look as little like herself as possible, right? But she had worked hard to love her hair, and as much as she liked the short style, she couldn't wait to be able to put her hair in twin braids again. She felt a bitter-sweet pang in her chest, remembering how her father had taught her to braid her own hair by letting her practice on his. He'd had such beautiful silky hair, and for a long time, Ayasha had wished she hadn't had hair like her mother at all.

But her father had loved her mother's hair so much, and she had so many memories of them together, mother sitting on the floor with her husband behind him, humming gently as he braided or twisted her hair. They had taught Ayasha to love every part of herself, no matter what anyone else said. What would they think of her now? That thought was too painful and she shoved it out of her head.

"Victor, how do animals react to you?" she blurted.

The big feral stopped what he was doing and stared at her. "The fuck kinda question is that?"

Ayasha shrugged. "It's just... most animals didn't like Terra, but she was a reptilian feral and you're more mammalian so..." When she didn't continue Victor grabbed her ankle, claws pricking her skin. "So I just thought it'd be really sad if dogs didn't like me any more!" she said in a rush, face red and arms wrapped around herself.

Victor almost laughed. The girl was genuinely concerned that she wouldn't be able to just go up and ask to pet people's dogs any more. He shook the water from his hair and pulled the plug. "Get dressed to go outside," he said, standing. She opened her mouth and he threw a towel at her. "Just shut up and get dressed."

000

It was colder outside now, and Ayasha wondered if it was normal for it to be like this in October in Canada. She'd layered her socks and Victor had loaned her a massive sweatshirt of his to layer over everything. The cold hardly seemed to bother him as he lead her to a small door in the west side of the fences. Another illuminated keypad and another code let them through, and they trekked out into the woods. The sun had melted away the morning frost already, and it shown brightly through the trees, Ayasha struggling to both wonder at her surroundings and keep track of Victor, all while not tripping in her oversized boots.

He refused to answer any of her questions, and she eventually gave up. But as they moved deeper into the forest, something began to itch at the back of her mind. She could smell something strange, and kept catching twitches of movement out of the corner of her eye. But every time she turned her head, there was nothing but gently shifting underbrush. She could hear things too. Snuffling and rapid movement. The hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end, and her skin prickled.

"Victor..."

"Be quiet and stay close to me." She did just that, and he lead her into a small clearing, set against a steep rocky slope. Shivers ran up and down her spine and arms when they stopped and looked around. Half a deer carcass—and a fresh looking one, too—was laying at the mouth of a cave. She opened her mouth to speak again when _wolves_ poured out of the trees and the cave, four of them looking much younger than the rest. Ayasha bit back a scream and grabbed Victor's coat, standing behind him.

The biggest of the wolves was a black male with heterochromia and a chunk missing out of his left ear. The rest flanked him as he padded up to Victor. The big mutant was as relaxed as could be, and he looked the massive creature full in the eyes. Then the wolf reared up on his hind legs to plant his paws on Victor's shoulders. Ayasha's heart jumped into her throat and her mouth went dry. The seconds seemed to drag on forever, the other wolves circling as the two apex predators stared at each other.

Then the alpha's tail began to wag and he licked Victor's face. With similar relaxed postures, the other wolves advanced, all sniffing and nudging the humans with their noses. Victor reacted with head scratches and quiet noises. Ayasha just stared. They were huge, putting even the biggest shepards and huskies she'd met to shame. They were nothing like dogs at all. But she felt a playful tug on her pantleg, and looked down. One of the smaller wolves, probably an adolescent, was looking up at her from a play-bow, tugging on her pants.

Slowly, Ayasha held out a hand, palm flat. The pup let go of her pants and sniffed, as if expecting a treat. It licked her palm, and Ayasha laughed. Joy and wonder replaced her fear as she crouched down, letting all the animals come in close to investigate. She was sniffed and pawed at, cold noses pressed into her neck and face. One of the pups even leaned heavily against her, demanding scratches at the base of his tail. Others jealously nosed under her arms, but scattered when a salt and pepper female walked over.

Something inside Ayasha prodded her, and she ducked low, exposing her throat to the big creature. It was a good thing too. The female was the mother of the pups, and the beta of the pack. She examined the human girl, sniffing every inch of her before she snorted in her face and walked away. As terrified as she was, Ayasha looked up at Victor what he could only describe as child-like wonder. Her face and scent were so pure, as if she were experiencing life for the first time. She ran her fingers through thick, coarse fur, was pushed into the dirt and had her hood pulled on.

She wasn't sure how long she was playing with the wolves, but when Ayasha looked up again, Victor was leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Most of the wolves had wondered off, and the pups were getting hungry and returning pull at the dear carcass. Dusting herself of Ayasha walked over to Victor. "This answer your question, frail?"

Ayasha was in such a good mood, being called 'frail' didn't even bother her. "Fuck, Victor," she breathed, watching the animals. "They're so... big." It was all she could think to say. She couldn't name all the feelings going through her right now. Her heart felt like it was about to burst, and she almost felt like she could cry. Then mirth glittered in her eyes as she looked up at him. "So, does this make you a Disney prince?"

The idea was so absurd and out of the blue that Victor wasn't even angry. He laughed. "Been called a lotta things. Pretty sure that's a new one."

"Stories would be more fun with people like you." She looked away again, smiling.

"Stories already have people like me, frail," he growled, trailing a claw along the side of her neck. "They're called 'villains'."

Ayasha knew he was right, and shivered. Again, she thought about how she should be more bothered by his nature. But she still didn't care. "More girls prefer the villains to charming princes these days, anyway," she said with a shrug.

Victor grabbed her by the neck and forced her to look at him. "You sure about that, frail?" He squeezed, just a little, claws pricking her skin. "Prince Charming don't leave you bruised and bleeding when he fucks you."

Something hardened in her eyes. "I'm not some delicate china doll made for soft caresses and gentle kisses," she said sharply.

"No, yer not." Victor exchanged his grip on her throat for a fistful of her hair, slamming his mouth over hers, fangs nicking her lips and tongue. When he broke away she was out of breath, pupils blown and scent thick with arousal. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her after him. The wolves didn't follow, but he waited until they were a good ways away from the den before he rounded on her, grabbing the back of her neck and pointing eastward. "House is that way. You get there before me, and I'll be nice and fuck you in the bed." The consequences of him catching her before that hung in the air between them, and something inside her throbbed.

She turned and ran, Victor watching her go with a smirk that bared his fangs. He started after her at a leisurely pace, planning out exactly what he was going to do to her when he caught her.

000

Ayasha knew she wouldn't make it back to the house before him. She'd known it the second he told her to run. She knew he'd catch her and do what ever he wanted with her. It should have terrified her. Should have made her want to cry. But it didn't. Being reduced to prey shouldn't make her excited, shouldn't make her wet. But Victor...

The fence was just coming into view when she heard a chuckle to her left. She skidded to a halt, whirling to look. There was nothing. Victor grabbed her from behind and spun her around, shoving her hard against a tree. She cried out and winced, the air driven from her lungs. Victor dragging his tongue along the side of her neck. She smelled of fear and arousal, and she arched against him when he shoved his hand down her pants, drawing his finger through her wet folds.

"Such a good girl," he purred, "all ready for me." Ayasha's cheeks burned and she struggled, even though she didn't really want to escape him. He laughed darkly, and she shivered as he yanked her out of her boots and then pulled her pants down around her ankles. He spun her around and pressed her face into the rough bark of the tree as he undid his belt. He kicked her feet apart and rubbed his cock between her legs. She whimpered again, but spread her legs further, pushing against him.

Victor practically lifted her off her feet when he thrust inside, yanking up her shirt and bra to expose her breasts to the chilly air. He pushed her soft skin into the tree, smelling blood where the bark scraped her. He fucked her hard, not caring if he hurt her. But she was too fucking short. He _did_ lift her off her feet then, holding her easily off the ground as he pounded into her tight little pussy, listening to all her delicious little noises. And Ayasha loved every fucking second of it.

He moved her like she weighed no more than a ragdoll, using her like a toy to stroke himself. Her claws tore chunks out of tree as she scrabbled for a hold, nipples hard as they brushed the rough surface. She was aching to feel his hands, but he never touched her, just slamming her down on his cock over and over. Some small part of her burned with shame. She shouldn't like this; shouldn't like being used. But she didn't have to decide anything, she didn't have to worry about her fate when she was like this. Conflicted tears burned her eyes. But she didn't say stop, didn't _want_ to stop.

She was staring to cry out at each thrust, and Victor wrapped a hand around her mouth, pausing to grind her down onto his hips. "Careful, kitten, unless you want to attract the attention of another predator."

Claws dragged over her belly before cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples until tears ran down her cheeks. His breath was hot on her neck, and she turned it to the side, practicality begging him to mark her again. Victor started moving again, pace so hard that Ayasha swore he was was going to split her in two. He stuck a finger in her mouth and she sucked, spinning her tongue around the claw.

"Such a good girl, 'Yasha." The rasping words—he'd said her name; he _never _said her name—sent her over the edge, mouth open in a silent cry. The rhythmic clenching of her cunt proved Victor's undoing, and he bit the side of her neck as he came, careful not to go too deep, or draw too much blood.

When Victor pulled away, Ayasha couldn't stay on her feet, and fell to her knees, breathing hard. Her vision was fuzzy, dark at the edges. She felt like she was floating in prickling heat, and could only mumble softly when she was lifted off the ground, boots and pants pressed into her hands. There was a short amount of bouncing and jostling before the air was suddenly warm again and she was laid out on something soft.

Shaking her head, she blinked her eyes. She was laying on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, the borrowed leather jacket draped over her lower half. The feeling lingering in her limbs could only be described as 'swooshy'. She tried her best to come up with an actual word, but 'swooshy' was the best she could manage. For a moment she panicked; she couldn't see Victor. Her arm flailed for a brief moment before coming into contact with his foot. Rolling over on her back she found herself looking up at him.

Stretching like a cat she smiled, actually fucking _smiled_ up at him. By rights, she should be unconscious, and at the very least bleeding from between her legs. But she had wanted him so badly, and her body had welcomed him so happily that it had managed to take the abuse without damage, and the frail actually seemed happy about it. Her body was surprisingly resilient, and her sexual apatite almost matched Victor's own. She didn't cower or protest, embracing her sexuality and grabbing every bit of pleasure that she could. She wasn't ashamed of how much she liked fucking, at least not for the most part. Enjoying being used as a fuck toy seemed to be taking some time to get used to.

Victor crouched down beside her, and touched her cheek with the back of his claw. Ayasha gave him a lazy smile and kissed his hand, dragging a fang over his knuckle. Shaking his head, he sat her up and peeled away the rest of her clothes. Ayasha glared and shivered, reaching for him. Instead, Victor snagged a blanket off the back of the couch, draping it around her shoulders. He lifted and carried her to the couch, stretching out on the length of it and laying her on his chest. She nuzzled into his chest hair, breathing in his scent.

Some of her senses were returning, and she gave him a lopsided smile. "If my Mama could see me now," she chuckled. She felt a little bitter-sweet about that, but still smiled. Her parents hadn't been around for her 'rebellious teenager phase'. Hell, she'd never really had one. Did letting a giant feral mutant fuck her till she passed out count? Whatever it was, it was certainly a wonderful distraction.


End file.
